My soil, my root prose

Standing on the side of the road, watching the passers-by, trying to rain heavily, maybe strangers in the distance can get some dirt from other places. This idea is ridiculous, and embarrassment and loneliness become a powerful satire on desire.

But maybe I will buy the A Jin Harbour Drill and use it to dig three feet and transport the soil out. But I don't want to be the destroyer of the city. It is easy to destroy people these days, but absolutely impossible to destroy land; Making money is easy. It's hard to find dirt.

Go ahead and find my dirt! The desire for plant life assigned me to start at once and go further. I suddenly remembered my junior high school classmate Li Hong, who lives in Fengshan, more than 30 miles away from the city. There must be a lot of land there. Not to mention a pot of soil, because I have been to her hometown in the first grade.

I was eleven years old that year, and she often described the beauty of my hometown to me, saying that she would take me to her home in person, otherwise I would come to earth for nothing. She proudly said that the azaleas on Fengshan are crazy every year, and half the sky is red. Every villager has at least 10 acre orchard. Peach blossoms bloom in spring, grapes shine like pearls in summer, mushrooms have nowhere to run in autumn, and people can stand in the frozen river in winter. I was so noisy by her that my feet seemed to have wings and I didn't wait for her invitation. I offered to see it.

One Friday afternoon after school, I followed her to my dream country. At that time, there were no buses, and the traffic was inconvenient. All roads were winding and secluded. In some places, we have to wade across the bridge, and the mountain road is 36 bends. I was too tired to lie on the grass and doze off before I walked five miles. Li Hong said that if you go on like this, I'm afraid you won't be able to go home at ten o'clock in the evening. She said anxiously, let me carry you.

She hugged me for a while and then let me go. She told me a joke or story to amuse me and tried her best to make me forget the real distance of the trip. She was panting with fatigue, and I felt the sweat on her face. Her face looks particularly beautiful in the twilight. Su Shi said: "She is covered with poems and books, and mountains and rivers." . During the journey of more than 30 miles, I lay on the ridge, grass embankment and vegetable seedling ground at least five times. I really smelled the rich fragrance of the soil, heard its even breathing and felt its warm body temperature. This is a particularly wonderful feeling. Ten years later, I am still alive.

The bus is outside the city 10 miles, and I still haven't seen any dirt there. The original green fields once again escaped from my thirsty vision. I can't see rice fields, rape fields and orchards. I gradually changed from nervousness to fear, and I was really afraid that my fear would become an indisputable fact. Have all my ideal rural areas become reinforced concrete?

Otherwise, the car drove out of the suburbs 30 miles away, and I didn't see the really amiable countryside. My desire is about to break, and the pain comforts me again to accept the reality of love. There is no soil here, because it is worthless! But my natural stubbornness made me afraid to stop. I got off the bus and walked alone. I didn't go far. Sure enough, a highland appeared before my eyes. There are two lonely pine trees, short and thin, far apart. There is a bird's nest on the top of the tree nearby. This nest is like a panacea, which keeps me alive. This is like an imperial decree from heaven, which makes me feel the tenacity of life and deeply touches my heart.

This bird's nest is ugly and triangular. Three layers of dead branches of different lengths are loosely stacked together, as if the wind could blow them away. Why are there such fragile nests in the world? I stopped under the tree and looked up again and again. Standing for half an hour, I didn't find a bird flying by. Suddenly, a dead branch fell in front of my eyes and almost hit my head. This is a serious surprise. I finally understand that the bird, like me, can't find soil to paste its nest anywhere, nor can it find branches to nest. Its saliva ran out, its tears disappeared, and the earth did not give it soil. How can it build a beautiful and solid residence? The fields are gone, the grass is gone, the wheat waves are gone, and the Woods are gone. Who will give it a place to live, who will give it a cool drink, and who will choose a place to live for its loneliness and helplessness? !

There is a big hospital on the left in front of me, which is the last thing I want to see. It invaded my classmate's peach blossom garden and replaced the beauty of my space. The last hope was hit again. At this time, the heart seemed to be evacuated, and the pain was like a raging wave. I compulsorily comforted myself, not as good as the seniors, put all this behind me and let my imagination practice the magic of growth. Anyway, there is not a piece of land in this world that belongs to me. Soil is just a legend. Let's use our imagination to support the soil and life I love. Is this the only way to explain my unbelievable facts?

I shed the most difficult tear in my life, and the tears danced with bitterness. The white and magnificent hospital kept shaking in front of my eyes. In a trance, I saw a strong man forcibly push me to the operating table, and strongly and coldly warned: "You tame it and stop looking for dirty things, otherwise, I will take out your tendon, peel off your skin and remove your endothelium, so that you can't be a human being ..."

The sound is like a monster from the underworld, which makes me cold all over. It's getting dark I should go back.

After running all day, I didn't touch a handful of soil, so I was exhausted. This kind of fatigue is not physical fatigue, but spiritual hope is shattered, and the expansion of economic prosperity has shattered spiritual needs. I want to cry, and my broken body and mind seem to be cut off by ghosts. Am I the incarnation of that nest?

At night, I dreamed that God gave me a handful of dirt. He said, "Take it, son, and plant whatever you want. Don't live up to your desire for love. " I immediately knelt down and hugged the soil tightly to my chest. Earth is God. Heaven and earth are big, I ask God to allow me to have a pair of green fingers, and I want to plant shade; The width of the river, I ask God to make a drop of spring water and let it flow to the dried-up soul. "Let your feet have more dirt, and always think of the people." I think the soil can not be separated from the people, nor can it be separated from me.

But where should I put the dirt? Looking around, I'm scared. I'm afraid the real estate agent will abandon it in reinforced concrete and suffocate it. I am afraid that city builders will use it to fill streams and rivers and expand the practical area of the city; I'm afraid that the desert wind has blown it away. At first, the ecstasy of holding the soil instantly turned into sadness all over the sky.

I told myself that I would find a pollution-free sea, plant it as a seed in the embrace of the sea, and let it blossom and bear fruit freely in it. No matter what it looks like, at least it can breathe fresh air freely without being exiled, occupied or polluted.

If this soil can no longer be allowed by life, I would like to turn it into soil at this moment and give the world a touch of green.