You you sang ai Gao er composition

The wheat is yellow, the early summer is flowing, and the mulberries are ripe. The sweet taste between my lips makes me can't help chasing from the distance of my memory, which makes me linger.

When I was a child, there were no apple trees and peach trees in the village. Economic trees are only pepper trees and mulberry trees. Because every family raises silkworms, every family will plant more than a dozen mulberry trees on the edge of the building, one with a row. It is full of green and grows sullenly.

Silkworms are particularly edible, picking mulberry leaves several times a day. I was occasionally arranged to pick mulberry leaves when I was a child. The greatest pleasure in doing this is picking mulberries.

Mulberry hides among the thick and fat mulberry leaves, like hide-and-seek, and suddenly finds one. I don't know how happy I am. Before I gave up, I always ate happily on the mulberry tree. Of course, picking mulberry leaves will not be delayed.

Mulberries are purple, black and white. Purple is small, sour and My Sweetie, and only grows on mulberry trees with small leaves. And because there are few mulberry leaves, there are few people in the village. They are generally wild and nobody cares. Only our children like it. Black mulberries are long and fat, tied on tall mulberry trees, but the output is pitiful; White mulberry is the best, and the sweetest of the three kinds of mulberries is rare.

Outside my yard is a piece of land where four or five mulberry trees are planted. A distant neighbor. Maybe his children are old and have no grandchildren, or he doesn't like eating. I don't know why, no one has ever picked white mulberries from mulberry trees.

I wander under the mulberry tree every day, from flowering to delicate green fruit, and then gradually turn white. I am eager to put it on and wait for it. Children are always longing for a little secret. This seems to be my secret garden. I have never told my friends that my selfishness has been infinitely satisfied.

Later, I went to school, so I had to pick some mulberries after school in the afternoon. My friends and I always go around the mountain to pick mulberries to eat first. A man climbed a tree and stuffed mulberries into his mouth in the oblique warm sun, just like a monkey. The teeth and tongue are purple-black, and the corners of the mouth and even cheeks are mottled, which is dyed by mulberry juice.

I have to pick some before I go home and take them back with my jacket. Although it was stained with juice, the jackets at that time were all old and stupid cloth woven by my family and dyed blue, so I couldn't see clearly. You won't be scolded too much when you get home.

In the 1990 s, our village's industry was greatly adjusted. Every family began to plant apple trees and peach trees. Those mulberry trees were cut down and there were few survivors.

I know that children can't stop adults' actions, and watching mulberry trees fall down one by one makes the building more empty and lonely. Father knew that I was greedy for mulberries, so he left a small mulberry tree with red mulberries by the weir behind the house. At least it can comfort my poor youth.

I think picking mulberry leaves is no longer a burden. I don't think it is a boring load to choose the messy silk on the cocoon. Mulberry will disappear from my hometown forever. In the morning mist and smoke, the lush mulberry trees disappeared, like the separation of partners and the loss of beloved toys, and a heavy smell came to my mind.

Now in the morning market of the county, some people sell purple-black mulberries. I like them very much. I bought some for my son to wash at home. My son doesn't like it, saying it's not sweet and tasteless. I picked up one and threw it in my mouth. The water is weak, but sweet. I don't know if my taste has changed over the years, or if the taste of mulberries has changed, or if my son has no childhood experience at all and is used to eating all kinds of delicious snacks. In short, this is by no means the taste of mulberry in memory.

It's comforting to get it back. Why does the memory remain unchanged and the taste become so bleak in the time depicted by dust? Maybe if you lose it, you shouldn't get it again. The feeling when you have it and the sadness when you lose it are all brewing and fermenting in time, which has gone far beyond the beauty and loveliness of the old things. It's hard to meet people's tastes again.

When I passed the stall selling mulberries again, I had to stay away with a wry smile. I know that my mulberry has already said goodbye and will never come back.