Lyric Prose of Old House in Hometown

Lyric prose of the old house in my hometown 1 In my memory, that house has been intact. I don't know since when, my mother always likes to call it the old house. Maybe it's because I'm not here, or maybe I seldom see such a house in the city again. The old house has become the name of my hometown and often appears in my dreams.

The old house is very big, far from the houses in the city now. Although it was a bungalow built by the unit, because there was no house before and after, my father transformed it into a quadrangle, with a yard in front and a vegetable field behind it. There are several living rooms, another kitchen and a bathroom built by my father, in which a pool is built. No matter what season, you can take a bath with water, like a small natural swimming pool.

Every spring, the yard is full of all kinds of flowers. Seen from a distance, it looks like a big garden. People are in flowers, and there are people in flowers. Beautiful scenery is often beautiful. Many people say that the flowers are blooming brightly, and at first glance, they know that the life of a family is thriving. Every time I hear these words, my mother always smiles from ear to ear.

Time flies, my childhood has gone away in the passage of time. On the day I left the old house, my mother watered the flowers in the yard once. She said, "If you leave, you can never go back. I wonder who this house will be given to in the future. "

Mom can't bear to leave, and I can't bear to leave? However, father's orders made it impossible for us to stay. After we left, the room was assigned to a colleague of my father. A few times, I wanted to go back and have a look, and my mother said, "What if I go back and have a look?" I guess it's already different. It's better not to watch it. At least in my memory, this is still our home. "

A few years later, when I was still in my hometown, I said that the house was built before and after. The yard was leveled and the vegetable fields were gone. I can't imagine what an old house would look like without a yard and vegetable fields. I can't imagine how the owner of that house will feel when the yard and vegetable fields are bulldozed.

And I also believe that people have roots, and I have lived there for more than ten years, from my birth to my graduation from middle school. I have too many memories there. Whenever it appears in my dream, I feel that I am back in its arms.

Today, the old house is still there. However, another family survived. Come and go, it gives people a home, but in the end it can't keep its former owner. Later, menstruation called and said that the bungalow would be demolished next year. I have nothing to say, but I miss it deeply.

Lyric prose of the old house in my hometown II. The song of my hometown is a flute in Qingyuan, which always rings on a moonlit night. The face of my hometown is a vague disappointment, as if waving goodbye in the fog.

Yi Yi Xi Murong

Your hometown, the hot land that once gave birth to me, raised me and accompanied me through my childhood, seems to be getting farther and farther away from me with the continuous vicissitudes of the rings, and becoming more and more vague and indifferent in the gradually degraded images.

In this rainy autumn and October, my father finally couldn't resist the long-term destruction of the disease. Although there are thousands of feelings for his wife and children, in the middle of the night that he will never forget, in front of the old house, his father stopped breathing forever and let his relatives call anxiously.

According to local customs, the father's body was buried in the green hills behind the village after complicated etiquette. I thought to myself: Dad and Grandma may be lucky. Father's new grave is adjacent to grandma's old grave, and the distance is no more than two meters. My father went back to my grandmother. Grandma died of illness in 1982, which means that mother and son meet again 32 years later. I bless my parents in pain, but my heart is a wound that can never heal.

Less than seven days after I buried my father, I drove to the border of Guizhou and bought more than ten kinds of evergreen plants around my parents' graves, so that my parents could see green leaves all year round and reduce their sadness. What's more, my father loved planting trees and grafting flowers, trees, fruits and plants. I hope my father can understand his son's concern and love for him.

My father left, forever, leaving only the Spring Festival couplets that my father wrote in front of the doors and windows of the old house last New Year's Eve.

Facing the old house, there are always many ideas in my heart that I can't figure out. This is my old house, a magnificent old house with wooden tiles. Sitting behind the rolling main peak and surrounded by the left and right auxiliary mountains, the front view is thousands of miles. More than 300 farmhouses are dotted with tall and lush persimmon trees, and pigeons are whispering at one end of the eaves.

The old house is a great pioneering work that mom and dad struggled together 34 years ago. In that extremely hard life, seven of us, including my grandmother, my parents, a total of ten people, often lacked food. However, considering that a family of ten people are crowded in the old house left by grandpa, and parents especially believe in Feng Shui, they often say, "Whether to eat or not depends on the foundation of the house, and future generations depend on the graveyard." "With the support of many factors and strengths, although there is no accumulation at home, it is supported by the fir trees left by my grandfather and the hard work of my family and my mother's family, so I successfully erected the tallest and most magnificent wooden roof in the village. One * * * five rooms, a first room in the middle, and two wing rooms on the left and right. When I was a child, I always wondered, apart from the first room in the middle, what are our four brothers? Which one will be my future wedding room? As a result of this idea, I bought a new house in the county.

In the year when the new house was just built, my second brother, sister and younger brother and I worked hard on our way to school. Except for my eldest brother who had already joined the work, our academic performance was excellent. Although the new house was erected, due to economic poverty, after several years of hard work, only the gable and the back wall were piled up with local stones, and the brick wall in front was repaired years later. Later, although there were some changes in the economy, considering that my brothers were working in other places, there was no need to invest a lot of money in decoration. Even now, the house is still simply decorated, and even the floor of one house has not been "trampled" so far. My father once told me that this old house can't be sold under any circumstances! Over the years, I have been doing business after work, so it should be no problem to decorate or demolish and rebuild. But facing my hometown, my old house, my mother who is nearly eighty years old, my homesickness that is fading away, and my pursuit of life, I can't make up my mind, and I can't tell my inner entanglement.

I remember that on the night when my father was buried, my eldest brother presided over seven brothers and sisters to discuss how to arrange a family meeting to pay homage to my mother. Both brothers and sisters expressed their views in combination with their own work characteristics and their own conditions. But on the whole, they all asked their mother to leave the old house, lest she think of her father and hurt her sick mother. After listening to our speech, my mother finally spoke. She said, "I am satisfied with your brother and sister's filial piety, but I will not leave this old house. Even if I leave, I will definitely come back in a few days. " The child is very startled! Mother went on to say, "Although the old house is very old, all seven of you brothers and sisters walked out from here smoothly. The old house is the foundation, and people can't forget the foundation! Besides, your father's bones are not cold. How sad and lonely your father will feel if he knows that we are all far away from this old house and this land! Mother choked on this,,,,,

I'm sighing and feeling sorry for myself. We never seem to understand our mother's deepest feelings for her hometown, her old house and her dead father. I especially recognize my mother's decision in my heart, but I'm worried about how long it will take my mother to go through the pain before she can calmly face the loss and harm of her father's absence.

"Life is like a ping!" In the face of this hot land and the suddenly changed family situation, I suddenly burst into such a sigh.

Before his death, his father proposed to tear down the old house and rebuild it, but the four brothers only got the consent of their eldest brother. My initial view was that my parents were old and sick and spent so much money and energy building a house. How many years will their parents live? Who will come to see it in the future? My father left us a few years after the building was built. It is impossible for an elderly mother to always guard this deserted old house! The children are vying to take them out to live.

At noon, dopted mother went to visit her mother. When she saw that the door was locked and she couldn't get in, she called me to ask why. The drug-addicted mother is old and hard of hearing. It took me a lot of effort to make dopted mother understand that her mother had been taken to the second sister's house two days ago, and the disappointed voice of dopted mother infected my mood! I feel depressed, which can only increase the coldness of the old house in my mind.

My old house, accompanied by my difficult growth, witnessed that I was loved and disciplined by my parents, and accompanied me through the sad years. After more than 30 years of rain, snow and frost, it no longer has a brand-new look.

In today's fickle world, although our hearts are often full of yearning for you, life is helpless and it is only necessary to visit you occasionally.

Hometown, you are my involuntary eyes when I climb high in the field;

Old house, you are my eternal melancholy;

Mom, you are a child's eternal dream.

Hometown, old house, mother, what do you want me to say? Why not let me worry about it?

Lyric Prose of Old Hometown 3 In my heart, my hometown is distant, vague and close at hand. Although my work place is only a dozen miles away from my hometown, and I will go home to visit my parents two or three times a month, this feeling that I have had since I left home alone at the age of 12 has never changed. The old house in the middle of the village, like an ancient ink painting, shines with warm light and stands in the depths of my memory, holding up my lingering homesickness complex.

I first realized the word hometown when I packed my bags and walked into the dormitory. The first greeting of the students who meet for the first time is: Where are you from? How far is it from school? With the frequent answers of southern accents and reports of familiar or unfamiliar place names, my hometown, as a symbol of family affection and a warm memory, is deeply engraved in my mind. The longer the time, the stronger the warm feeling.

The hometown of Busan is exactly the same as the place name of the Yellow Emperor's "Hefei Busan". This is a remote village with less than 300 households. According to historical records? According to the Chronicle of Five Emperors, the Yellow Emperor once "chased meat porridge to the north and merged with Busan". "Busan" is a place where the Yellow Emperor and representatives of various tribes unite and form alliances. The trip to Busan is an important milestone in the history of China, marking the beginning of the embryonic form of the Chinese nation. In 20xx, an investigation team composed of non-governmental people marched into their hometown to look for the footprints of Huangdi, the ancestor of China, and came to the conclusion that Busan was not the same as Busan. Therefore, Busan is just my hometown-a small mountain village at the junction of Gaoping and Qinshui, not Busan, which was crowned as the beginning of China's reunification, the foundation of China's 5,000-year civilization history and the birthplace of the Chinese nation.

The old house in the middle of the village, Chessboard Sixth Hospital, has the deepest memory of my hometown. According to the elders, the old house was the residence of a large family in the Ming Dynasty (there is also a saying that an official came home in rags), and the six brothers lived in one hospital each. The old house is high in the north and low in the south, and the pattern on the left and right sides is the second courtyard. In the middle of the four courtyards, a north-south tunnel with a width of about three meters and a length of about tens of meters is formed, that is, the Chu River Han boundary on the chessboard. At the end of the corridor is an east-west road that runs through two independent quadrangles. The west end of the road is the courtyard wall, and the north end is the towering gate. It is said that the upper floors of quadrangles are interconnected and can walk back and forth like a maze. The Sixth Hospital was cut by the north-south corridor and the east-west road, and organically combined into a chessboard shape, hence the name Chessboard Sixth Hospital.

Jane lives in the second yard in the east-west direction. Jane is three years older than me, and I am in the same class. Because of my age, she developed me into a certain "follower" like a big sister, with a runny nose and unable to lift my pants straight. I can't live without her except going to school, eating and sleeping every day. So many childhood memories happened in this ancient courtyard.

Every time I walk into the aisle and listen to my footsteps, a lot of people pop up in my mind, including owners with long beards, ladies with bun, ladies with long sleeves, sons who shake fans, and servants who serve them. I don't know how many people lived here, but I firmly believe that there must be a servant girl who died unjustly by her master. They may be hiding in one of the six courtyards. I often start calling Jane's name when I walk on the last step of the aisle. My heart didn't fall into my stomach until Jane loudly promised to meet me at the hospital gate with a bright smile.

Follow Jane into the gate, then go through the second door with a long row of stones, and turn right to Jane's house. The second door is a wooden door carved with dragons and phoenixes, which is somewhat similar to the present antique shelf. Entering Jane's house requires crossing the high gate, and there are two' bluestone piers' that have been polished as smooth as goose warm stones by years. There is a long row of tables on the back wall of the house. On the left side of the table is the top of an old cabinet, and on the right side is an inclined staircase. The cabinets and stairs are red, too. There are incense burners and Guanyin statues on several tables, and there is a white vase next to the cupboard, in which there is a huge feather duster. In the center of the back wall hangs a painted nave: elegant and beautiful, and a couplet. The content of couplets is too difficult for me to remember. The stairs go straight upstairs, and the floor and roof beam of the same size divide the house into upper and lower parts. The roof beam is thick and round, and there is no scar on it. Jane's building is not allowed for outsiders to enter unless it is her own home. The old people said that they were afraid that outsiders would disturb the venerable master upstairs. Two large heatable adobe sleeping platforms in front of the front wall occupy one third of the room, and two auxiliary heatable adobe sleeping platforms lean against the gable. Square bedding is piled on the kang. Jane's mother likes cleanliness. She dusts with a feather duster all day and never misses a corner, so Jane's home is always spotless and neat.

My home was built by my parents and borrowed by my relatives and friends. Although it is also a building, you can see the rafters and rough baskets on the roof at a glance because you didn't step on the floor, as well as a beam with different thicknesses at both ends, a broom, a mirror and a red cloth strip with your father's name and the time of winding. I am full of infinite yearning for the mysterious architecture of Jane's house. When Jane and Jane's family are away, I often sneak up a few stairs and then go downstairs in a panic. I want to see what the grandfather enshrined upstairs looks like, and I want to stand in the upstairs window and look out. Unfortunately, the wish to go upstairs didn't come true in the end. Jane never had the courage to take me upstairs. Even if she has the courage, I dare not go to bed. I am afraid of the so-called master who exists in my subconscious but can't be seen, and I am afraid that his old man will punish my bad behavior.

The ground of the tunnel is paved with neat bricks, which are very flat and spread out. When you walk on it, you will hear empty footsteps. Due to the shelter of the houses on both sides, the tunnel is warm in winter and cool in summer, and the six courtyards are self-contained. Adults rarely come to the tunnel, which has become a good place for us to play games. Every day after school, we don't go home immediately, but carry schoolbags, and under the guidance of Jane, we run in groups in the aisle, playing in this free and safe kingdom and enjoying a simple childhood. It was not until Jane's mother shouted "eat" that the birds and animals dispersed and went back to their homes.

On holidays, this is our paradise. Children in rural areas have many holidays, such as spring break, wheat break, summer vacation, autumn vacation and winter vacation, and they have holidays all year round. Adults are too busy catching up on farm work to care about us and eat in time. It is common to have lunch at three or four in the afternoon. We spend most of our time here. Jump house, hit sandbags, jump rope, grab rocks, play all the games you can, sit on the steps to rest when you are tired, or do your homework on the steps. I remember once in a war, when I was a traitor in the People's Liberation Army, I accidentally fell two or three steps, and my friend held me, so I didn't move. I lay on the ground rubbing my head, my eyes grew up along the straight wall, I saw the sky cut into a long blue scarf by the abrupt eaves, and my heart floated with the white clouds on the scarf ... Fortunately, I was unscathed. I think the master upstairs must have given me a gentle hand when I landed.

Over the years, I have also been to some places, such as the Qiao Family Courtyard and the Wang Family Courtyard. The most visited is the Forbidden City in Yangcheng, and I have been there three times. Every time I wander around the courtyard of the Imperial City, I will think of the old house in my hometown, the same deep house compound and the same quaint style. /kloc-More than 0/00 kilometers away, there are many tourists in the Forbidden City, but the old house in my hometown is "hidden in the boudoir and unknown". As always, the silence faded into a wall and a door in my memory. From taking part in work, getting married and having children to being close at hand, I am not confused. Every time I go home, I am in a hurry. I occasionally think of my old house, which is also a moment. Finally, I didn't go to see it. This weekend, I suddenly remembered some people and things in the old house. I can't restrain my inner excitement and can't wait to go back to my hometown and stop in front of the old house I miss so much.

Nowadays, the old house has changed. Almost all the residents in the old house moved to the new countryside outside the village. Only a few old people and some renters live here. Two years ago, an auxiliary shaft of a large mine was opened in my hometown. The rumble of machinery made the silence of the small mountain village noisy, followed by foreigners living in the village from south to north. Simple villagers also rent out houses that they can't live in like city people, and the rent is surprisingly low. After hundreds of years of wind and rain erosion, old houses have been rented out by generations of people at prices ranging from 300 yuan to 500 yuan every year. The old house silently straightened its old backbone and welcomed visitors from all directions with an open and inclusive attitude.

I stood in front of the aisle, holding my breath. I pushed the door open without hesitation.

For a long time ... I opened the door, as if I had opened a door to relive history. The solemn old house stood quietly, the moss-covered steps were silent, and my steps could not help but be dignified. The tunnel is quiet, the ground is wet and the air is wet. I walked into the Chu-Jianghan boundary, into a gloomy and quiet atmosphere, and into brilliant childhood memories. The walls of the old house are mottled, and the once smooth walls are pitted, like many big eyes without god. The stone bars on the steps are also uneven, which disrupts my walking rhythm. I stroked my childhood memories and walked into Jane's yard. The yard was empty, and some clothes swaying in the wind hung on the curved wire. There is a big lock on Jane's rusty knocker, and several tables, old cabinets and heatable adobe sleeping platform are locked in the door. With the blessing of the respected master, Jane's three brothers and sisters went out of the countryside one after another and became authentic city dwellers, living in unit buildings and quadrangles in the city. Only during the summer vacation, Jane's mother will take her grandchildren back to her old house to spend the summer and stay for a while.

Disappointed, I walked out of my old house and out of the Chu-Jiang-Han boundary that I was haunted by.

The real old house is no longer the majestic and sacred temple I remember. The old house in my memory is like a warm and translucent jade, emitting the light of annual rings. Today's old house, like a lingering old man, is being eroded and weathered by ruthless years. Maybe in a few years, old houses and tunnels will become ruins, disappear in this world, and be transformed into modern high-rise buildings by the pace of building a new socialist countryside. But whether it exists or not, the old house has become a symbol of my hometown, a symbol that has been shrunk and squashed, and has been engraved on the CD of my memory for a long time.