Only love that, fireworks in the square yard.

Chewing life to taste and make life fresh and fragrant often depends not only on the mouth, but also on a heart soaked in human fireworks. -Chen Daka's "But a Bowl of Human Fireworks"

We decided to go back to our hometown for the Spring Festival this year. In retrospect, it seems that I haven't been back to my hometown yard for ten years. Because of life and study, we can only leave our hometown, but no matter how many places we have been, the yard in our hometown will always be the best destination in my growing memory.

My hometown yard is in the countryside, where there are no tall buildings, no cars passing by, and only a country road connects my neighbors. There is a bridge in the village, which used to be a dirt bridge. I remember when I was a child, it rained heavily, and the bridge finally became overwhelmed and collapsed in half. Everyone joined hands to build a stone bridge, and there is a strong old poplar beside the bridge. However, I can't remember how many years, especially in summer, when a cool shade has just formed under the old poplar. Since then, this stone bridge has become a pavilion in our village, whenever the neighbors are busy.

The children in the village like to get together at the head of the village. Boys climb trees to tease birds, girls jump rubber bands and throw stones. They played all day. When the sunset turns the horizon red, everyone cooks dinner. When it's time for dinner, the children gradually spread out with the cries of adults and the mud covered in play: "Where did you go to play so well?" Go home for dinner right away. "Smoke rises slowly from every chimney, and the small village is full of fragrant rice, which has gone with the wind for ten miles, and there are fireworks everywhere.

An hour in the morning is worth two in the evening. At that time, people in small villages did not have all kinds of "awakening syndrome" like people in cities now. They are all cultivators. Before dawn, they can hear the cock crow. With this cry, the sleeping village slowly woke up. There is a breakfast shop in the west of the village, which was my favorite when I was a child. The morning in the small village is full of morning light, and it is also the busiest time of the day.

When I was a child, there was no fashionable large-scale crop machinery, and farm work was generally done by everyone themselves. Every National Day holiday, when corn is harvested in autumn, it is also the busiest time for every household, and almost the whole family goes out. I was almost busy late those days. There is a dim light bulb hanging in the yard, and the whole family is illuminated by it. Dad is responsible for bagging. We peeled corn, talked about trivial things, dressed in the starry night, and talked and laughed, and finished the farm work of the day. Even if we are tired, we are full and happy.

Every morning, listening to the sound of insects, the small village began a busy day. At that time, it was also a very exciting moment for our children whenever the adults at home wanted to go to the fields to do farm work. Sitting behind the tricycle, facing the warm sun, listening to the sound of the wind blowing wheat waves in the field, it seems that the wind blowing on the cheeks is very gentle. Streets and alleys are full of playful friends and playmates. When I got home, my family was chatting. I love this world, and I love the fireworks between sunset and sunset. Wang Zengqi once wrote: Eating everywhere is just a bowl of fireworks.

With the extension of time and the growth of age, many changes have taken place in the small village in memory. The bumpy muddy path is gone, the painted road is paved and every household is connected with barbed wire. Every place is developing in the footsteps of the city. Sitting in the car, looking at the neat new countryside on both sides of the road, I feel empty in my heart. My youth may be gone, but now it is the childhood memory of a new generation of children.

We cleaned the room at home, ate some rice, and walked along the alley together to see the changes in the village over the years. Walking to the bridge, I felt bare, and the big old poplar tree was gone. Dad said that the old Shi Lei Bridge had been demolished. In recent years, the construction of new countryside requires township workers to build a new bridge. Old poplars will affect the construction of the bridge, so we have someone cut it down. Without old poplars, the bridge will be closed. Along the path, I unconsciously came to the place where the hut and the field were connected. What I see is the lush Yang Shulin. I remember it was empty before. When have I ever planted such poplars? Father said it was planted the year we just left home, about ten years ago. I remember at that time, we also went like this. At that time, they were just bare saplings. Unexpectedly, they are so flourishing now.

When I got home in the evening, I recalled that piece of Yang Shulin, and I felt unspeakable in my heart. I just feel a sour feeling coming to my mind. The world is full of colorful things, and only this touch of fireworks can enter my heart.

A house, a grass and a tree, for thousands of years,

One stone, one moon, one star, all kinds of flavors.