Lyric prose about the old house in my hometown

Lyric Prose about the Old House in My Hometown 1

In my memory, that house has always been intact. I don’t know since when, my mother always liked to call it the old house. Maybe it's because it's not there, or maybe it's because it's rare to see a house like this in the city. The old house has become the name of my hometown, and it often appears in my dreams.

The old house was very big, far unlike the housing in the city today. Although it was a bungalow built by the work unit, since there were no houses in the front or the front, my father transformed it into a courtyard with a yard in the front and a vegetable patch in the back. . In the middle are several rooms for people to live in, a kitchen, and a bathroom built by my father with a sink in it. No matter what season it is, you can put water in to take a bath, like a small natural swimming pool.

Every spring, the yard is filled with flowers of various colors. From a distance, it looks like a big garden. People are in flowers, and there are people in flowers. The scenery is often stunning. Many people said that the flower bloomed brightly, and one look at it showed that the family was living a prosperous life. Every time I hear these words, my mother always smiles from ear to ear.

Time flies by, and my childhood also goes by with the passage of time. On the day she left the old house, my mother watered the flowers in the yard. She said: "Now that I leave, it is impossible to come back. I don't know who will give this house to in the future?"

My mother is reluctant to leave, and why am I the same? But my father's order did not allow us to stay. After we left, the room was given to one of my father's colleagues. Several times, I wanted to go back and take a look, but my mother said: "So what if I go back and take a look, it's probably already a different look. It's better not to take a look. At least in my memory, it's still our home."

A few years later, my aunt who was still in her hometown said that houses were built before and after that house. The yard was bulldozed and the vegetable plot was gone. I can't imagine what an old house would be like without a yard and a vegetable patch. I can't imagine how the owner of that house would feel if the yard and vegetable patch were bulldozed.

And I also believe that people have roots. I lived there for more than ten years, from my birth to my graduation from middle school. It holds so many memories for me that every time it appears in my dreams, I feel like I have returned to its embrace.

Today, the old house is still there. It's just that another family has moved in. Coming and going, it gave people a home, but in the end, it could not keep its former owner. Later, my aunt called and said that the bungalow will be demolished next year. I am speechless but miss you deeply. Lyrical Prose of the Old House in My Hometown 2

The song of my hometown is a clear and distant flute that always sounds on moonlit nights. The appearance of my hometown is a kind of vague longing, as if waving goodbye in the fog...

One by one Murong

Your hometown once gave birth to me, raised me and accompanied me The hot land where I spent my childhood seems to be getting farther and farther away from me as the years go by, becoming increasingly blurry and indifferent in the gradually deteriorating images.

In the rainy October of this autumn, my father finally could not withstand the long-term ravages of the disease. Although he was deeply reluctant to leave his wife and children, in that late night that he will never forget, in front of the old house, my father He stopped breathing forever, allowing his loved ones to call heart-wrenchingly.

According to local customs, after lengthy rituals, my father’s body was buried on the green hill behind the village. I secretly thought: Maybe my father and grandma are lucky. My father's new grave was adjacent to my grandma's old grave, with a distance of less than two meters. My father returned to my grandma again. Grandma passed away from illness in 1982. Dad and grandma were reunited 32 years later. I prayed for my father and grandma in pain, but deep down in my heart was a sadness that could never be healed.

Less than seven days after my father’s burial, I drove to the border of Guizhou and bought more than ten evergreen evergreens to plant around my father’s and grandma’s tombs, so that my father and grandma could see the green leaves all year round, so as to reduce the grief of the deceased. The desolation. What's more, my father loved planting trees, grafting flowers, fruits, and plants during his lifetime. I hope he understands his son's care and concern for him.

My father is gone, gone forever, leaving only the Spring Festival couplets written by my father on New Year’s Eve last year in front of the doors and windows of the old house.

Facing the old house, I always have so many things in my mind that I can’t figure it out.

A majestic and tall old house with wooden tiles, with the rolling main peak mountain range behind it and the secondary mountains on the left and right. The front of the house has a view of thousands of miles. Tall and vast persimmon trees decorate the more than 300 farmhouses in an orderly manner. Pigeons are on the eaves. Whisper, this is my old house.

The old house is a great initiative that my father and mother worked together thirty-four years ago. During those extremely difficult years, the seven of us brothers and sisters, together with my grandmother, father and mother, lived together. With a family of ten, food is often in short supply and there is no food supply. But considering that the family of ten people were crowded into the old house left by my grandfather, and because my parents believed in Feng Shui, they often murmured the saying, "Whether there is food or not depends on the foundation of the house, and whether the children and grandchildren will prosper depends on the graveyard." "With the support of many factors and forces, although the family had no accumulation, it was all thanks to the cedar tree left by my grandfather and the labor support of the tribe and my mother's family. The tallest and majestic wooden structure in the village was built with tiles. The house was erected smoothly. There are one to five rooms, with the main room in the middle and two side rooms on the left and right. When I was young, I have been guessing, except for the main room in the middle, how are the four brothers separated? Which one will be my future wedding room? Such thoughts stopped after I had purchased a new house in the county.

In the year when we first built our new house, except for my eldest brother who was already working, my second brother, sister, and younger brother and I were all working hard on our studies, and our academic performance was very good. Although the new house was erected, due to economic poverty and after several years of hard work, only the gables and back walls were built with local stones, while the front brick wall was added many years later. Although there were some financial changes later, considering that the brothers all worked in other places, there was no need to invest a lot of money in decoration. Even now, the houses are still decorated simply as before, and the floor of one house has even been left untouched. My father once told me that this old house must not be sold no matter what! For many years, I have also been a businessman in my spare time. If I want to renovate or demolish and rebuild, it should not be a big problem. But facing my hometown, my old house, my mother who is nearly eighty years old, my gradually fading nostalgia, and my life pursuits, I can’t make up my mind, and I can’t explain the entanglements deep in my heart. .

I remember that on the night after my father was buried, my eldest brother presided over a family meeting among the seven brothers and sisters to discuss how to arrange a filial piety ceremony for their mother. Each brother and sister expressed their own opinions and expressed their opinions based on their own work characteristics and conditions. opinions. But in general, they all asked the mother to leave the old house, so as not to miss her father when she saw things, which would hurt the mother's already sick body. After listening to our speeches, my mother finally spoke. She said: "I am very satisfied after hearing your brothers and sisters' filial piety, but I will not leave this old house. Even if I leave, it will take a few days." return". The children were all shocked! The mother continued: "Although the old house is very old, the seven of you brothers and sisters all walked out smoothly from here. The old house is the foundation, and people cannot forget the roots! What's more, your father's bones are not cold, if he is here, God knows how sad and lonely your father will feel when we all leave this old house and this land! My mother choked up when she said this...

I secretly lamented and felt guilty that we could never understand my mother's deepest feelings for her hometown, her old house, and her deceased father. In my heart, I particularly praised my mother's decision, but I was worried about what my mother would have to go through. How long does it take for the pain to calmly face the loss and sadness of my father’s absence?

“Life is like a ping! "Facing this hot land and the suddenly changed family situation, I suddenly sighed like this.

During his lifetime, my father had proposed to demolish the old house and rebuild it. The four brothers only had the eldest brother. My original opinion was that my parents were old and sick. After spending so much money and energy on building a house, who would be able to live there for a few years? It was impossible for the elderly mother to stay in this deserted old house! The children were all vying to take her out to live in her house.

At noon, the godmother went to visit her mother and called her when she saw that the door was locked and she couldn't get in. I asked what the reason was. My godmother was old and her ears were hard to use. It took a lot of effort to make her understand that my mother had been taken to my second sister’s house two days ago. My godmother’s disappointed voice infected me. Mood! I feel very depressed, which only adds to the desolate silence of the old house in my mind.

The old house that once accompanied me in my difficult growth, witnessed that I was loved and disciplined by my parents, and accompanied me through my sad years, has gone through more than thirty years of rain, snow, wind and frost. It no longer has the new and straight look it once had.

In today’s uncertain world, although our hearts are full of fervent thoughts about you, life is helpless and we can only have the necessity to visit you occasionally.

Hometown, you are what I can’t help but look at when I climb a height in a foreign land;

Old house, you are the melancholy that will never go away;

Mother, You are the child’s dream forever.

Hometown, old house, mother, how do you want me to place it? Why don't you call me worried? Lyrical Prose of the Old House in My Hometown 3

In my heart, my hometown is distant, vague and close. Although my workplace is only ten miles away from my hometown, and I go home to visit my parents two or three times a month, this feeling that started when I left home to study alone at the age of 12 has never changed. The old house located in the center of the village is like an ancient ink painting, shining with warm light, lingering in the depths of my memory, creating my lingering homesickness.

The first time I realized the word hometown was when I carried my luggage and walked into the dormitory. The first greeting from the classmates I met for the first time was: Where are you from? How far is it from the school? With the answers in southern and northern accents and the names of familiar or unfamiliar places, my hometown has become a symbol of family affection and a warm memory deeply engraved in my mind. The longer time goes by, the stronger this warm feeling becomes.

The hometown of Busan is exactly the same as the place name of Huangdi's "Fushan". It is a remote village with less than 300 households. According to the "Historical Records of the Five Emperors", the Yellow Emperor once "chased meat porridge in the north, in line with Busan". "Busan" is the place where the Yellow Emperor and representatives of various tribes unified the talisman and formed an alliance. Busan Hefu is an important milestone in Chinese history, marking the emergence of the Chinese nation. In 20xx, an inspection team composed of civilians marched into their hometown to search for the footprints of the Yellow Emperor, the ancestor of China, and concluded that this Busan is not the other Busan. Therefore, Busan is just my hometown - a small mountain village located on the border between Gaoping and Qinshui. It is not the place that is regarded as the beginning of the great unification of China, the foundation of the five thousand years of Chinese civilization, and the birthplace of the Chinese nation. The source of Busan.

The most profound memory of my hometown is the old house in the center of the village - Qipan Liuyuan. According to the elders, the old house was the residence of a large family in the Ming Dynasty (there is also a saying that it was an official who returned home in glory). Six brothers each lived in one courtyard. The old house is high in the north and low in the south, with a layout of two courtyards on the left and right. A north-south corridor about three meters wide and dozens of meters long is formed in the middle of the four courtyards, which is the Chu River and Han boundary on the chessboard. At the end of the corridor is an east-west road that crosses two independent courtyards. At the west end of the road is the courtyard wall, and at the north end is the towering gate. It is said that the upper floors of the courtyard are connected to each other, so you can walk back and forth like a maze. The north-south corridors and east-west roads cut the six courtyards and organically combine them to form a chessboard shape, hence the name "Chessboard Sixth Courtyard".

Jane lives in the second courtyard in the east-west direction. Jane is three years older than me and is in the same class as me. Because she is older, she acts like a big sister and makes me, a little kid with a snotty nose and can't hold up my pants straight, into her determined "follower." Every day, except for going to school, eating, and sleeping, I am inseparable from her. So many memories about childhood took place in this ancient courtyard.

Every time I walk into the corridor and listen to my own footsteps as I climb the stairs, many people pop into my mind, including a gentleman with a long beard, a lady with a bun, and someone with long hair. The lady holding the sleeves, the young man waving the fan, and the servants who served them. I don’t know how many people have lived here, but I firmly believe that among them there must be maids who were punished by their masters and died unjustly. They may be hiding in the Sixth Courtyard. In a corner, a person with disheveled hair and a long tongue looked at me, and he began to panic in his heart. He couldn't help but speed up his steps, for fear that the female ghost would follow me silently and grab my neck. I usually walk up the last step of the corridor and start shouting Jane's name. It's not until Jane loudly agrees and greets me at the door with a smile that my heart drops in my stomach.

Follow Zhen into the gate, then cross the second gate along a long stone strip, turn right and you will find Zhen's home.

The second door is a wooden door carved with dragons and phoenixes, which is somewhat similar to the current Bogu rack. To enter Jane's home, you need to cross the high door inlay. At the door, squatting are two bluestone door piers that have been polished by the years and are as smooth as warm pebbles. There is a long row of maroon tables on the back wall of the house. On the left side of the tables is an old cabinet, and on the right is a staircase. The cabinet and stairs are also maroon red. There are incense burners and Guanyin statues neatly placed on several tables. A white vase stands against the cabinet with a huge feather duster inserted in it. In the center of the back wall hangs a picture of Yan and Ti in the nave: Shi Ya Ren Ren Mei, and a couplet. The content of the couplet is so difficult to understand that I can no longer remember it. The stairs lead directly to the upper floor. Floor slabs and roof beams of the same size divide the house into two parts, upstairs and downstairs. The roof beams are thick and round, without a single scar on them. Outsiders are not allowed to enter the Zhen family's building, except for members of their own family. The old people say they are afraid that outsiders will disturb the master worshiped upstairs. The two large earthen Kangs against the front wall occupy one-third of the space of the house, and the two auxiliary Kangs are placed diagonally on the gable wall. There were square quilts stacked on the kang. Jane's mother loves to be clean. She spends the whole day dusting off the dust with a feather duster, not missing any nook and cranny, so Jane's home is always spotless and neat.

My home is a new home built by my parents and borrowed by relatives and friends. Although it is also a building, because there is no floor slab, you can see the twisted rafters and rough fences on the roof at a glance. , there is also a beam with different thicknesses at both ends and some curves. Hanging on the beam is a broom, a mirror, and a red cloth strip. The red cloth strip has my father's name and the time of mounting the beam written on it. I am full of infinite yearning for the mysterious building of the Zhen family. I once secretly climbed up a few stairs when Zhen and Zhen's family were away, and then hurriedly came down again. I wanted to see what the master who was enshrined upstairs looked like, and I also wanted to stand in front of the upstairs window to enjoy the breeze and look out. Unfortunately, my wish to go upstairs did not come true in the end. Jane never had the guts to take me upstairs. Even if she had the courage, I wouldn't dare to do it. I'm afraid of the so-called master who I can't see but exists in my subconscious, and I'm afraid that he will punish me for my misbehavior.

The floor of the corridor is covered with neat bricks, which are flat and flat. When walking on it, you can hear the sound of empty footsteps. Because the corridor is protected by the houses on both sides, it is warm in winter and cool in summer, and the six courtyards are their own doors. Adults rarely come to the corridor, so it becomes a good place for us to play games. Every day after school, we didn't go home immediately. Instead, we carried our schoolbags and, led by Jane, ran in groups to the corridor, playing and playing in this free and safe kingdom, and enjoying the pure childhood time. It wasn't until Jane's mother shouted "It's time to eat" that the birds and animals dispersed and everyone went back to their homes.

During the holidays, this is our paradise. Rural children have many holidays, such as spring vacation, wheat vacation, summer vacation, autumn vacation, winter vacation, there are holidays all year round. The adults are too busy with farm work to take care of us, and they don't rely on time to eat. It's common to have lunch at three or four in the afternoon. We spent most of the day here. Hopscotch, smash sandbags, skip rope, catch stones, play all the games you can play over and over again. When you are tired, sit on the steps to rest for a while, or lie down on the steps to do your homework. I remember one time when I was playing a war game, I was acting as the People's Liberation Army to arrest a traitor. I accidentally fell down two or three steps. My friends helped me, but I couldn't move. I lay on the ground and rubbed my dazed head. My eyes followed the straight wall and I saw the sky cut into a long blue scarf by the abrupt eaves. My heart followed the white clouds floating on the scarf. Floating back and forth... Fortunately, I survived unscathed. I think it must have been the man upstairs who gave me a gentle lift when I landed.

I have also been to some places over the years, such as the Qiao Family Courtyard and the Wang Family Courtyard. The most visited place was the Imperial Prime Minister's Mansion in Yangcheng, three times in one ***. Every time I walk around the various courtyards of the Imperial City Prime Minister's Mansion, I will think of the old houses in my hometown, the same deep courtyards and the same simple style. The Prime Minister's Mansion in the Imperial City, which is more than a hundred kilometers away, is bustling with tourists, but the old house in my hometown is "hidden in the boudoir and no one knows it." It remains silent as always, dimmed into a wall and a door in my memory. From starting a job, getting married and having children, to getting close to adulthood, every time I went home, I was in a hurry. Occasionally, I thought of the old house, but it was also a fleeting thought, and in the end I didn't go to see it. This weekend, I suddenly remembered some people and things in the old house. I couldn't restrain my inner emotions. I couldn't wait to return to my hometown and stop in front of the old house I had longed for.

Nowadays, the old house has become a mess.

Almost all the residents in the old houses have moved to the new rural areas outside the village. There are only a few elderly people living here and some renters. Two years ago, an auxiliary shaft of a large mine was opened in my hometown. The rumbling sound of machinery disturbed the silence of the small mountain village. Following this, outsiders from all over the country moved into the village. Simple villagers also rent out uninhabitable houses like city dwellers, and the rents are astonishingly low. The old house, which has been eroded by wind and rain for hundreds of years, has been rented out by people who have lived in it for unknown generations at prices ranging from three to five hundred yuan a year. The old house straightens its old back in silence, and welcomes visitors from all directions with an open and tolerant mind.

I stood in front of the corridor and held my breath, hesitating, unable to bear to push open the door.

For a long time... I pushed open the door hard, as if I had opened a door to relive history. The majestic old house stood silently, the moss-covered steps were silent, and my steps couldn't help but become solemn. It was quiet in the corridor, the ground was damp, and the air was humid. I walked into the Chuhe-Han realm, into the gloomy and quiet atmosphere, and into the brilliant childhood memories. The walls of the old house are mottled, and the once smooth walls are full of pits and pits, like many big, dull eyes. The stone strips on the steps were also tilted and uneven, which disrupted my walking rhythm. I walked into the yard of Zhen's house, caressing my childhood memories. There was no one in the yard, except for a few pieces of clothing swaying in the wind hanging on the curved wire. A big lock was locked on the rusty door knocker of Zhen's house, locking the maroon tables, old cabinets and earthen kang inside the door. The three brothers, Zhen, were blessed by their enshrined master, and one after another they took the exams and left the countryside. They became full-fledged city dwellers and lived in apartment buildings and courtyard houses in the city. Only during the summer vacation, Jane's mother would take her grandchildren back to the old house to escape the summer heat and stay for a while.

I walked out of the old house with a sense of loss, and walked out of the Chuhe-Hanjie that I had always dreamed of.

The old house in reality is no longer the majestic and sacred palace in my memory. The old house in my memory is like a piece of warm and translucent jade, shining with the light of its annual rings. Today's old house is like a living old man, being eroded and weathered by the ruthless years. Perhaps a few years later, the old houses and corridors will become ruins and disappear from the world, and will be transformed into a modern high-rise building by the pace of building a new socialist countryside. But regardless of whether it exists or not, the old house has become a symbol of my hometown. A symbol has been shrunk and flattened. It is engraved on the CD of my memory and will never be forgotten.