Come to see you with flowers

Outside the window, warm wind and drizzle are pregnant with spring. I'm looking at a picture of an old tree in the house. A man in a white shirt and hat is a bit charming. He is carrying a flower on his shoulder, a crimson flower, swaying and dense. The soft spring breeze fluttered backwards, and the man stood on the bank of a broad spring river with light green grass at his feet. The inscription lights up the artistic conception, and the old tree writes: Spring breeze blows, and I come to see you with flowers.

Adults have feelings, which may not be realized. Many times, they will be bound and suppressed. Who would bring such a big flower? This painting is somewhat idealistic.

Speaking of the creation of Old Tree, my heart is pounding.

When the old tree talks about elementary school, in spring, when students go to school, they will bring some flowers, put them in ink bottles, and set up the classroom window sill. When he was old and strong, he picked up an axe and ran to the mountains to cut down a particularly large mountain flower and carried it home. There was no place to insert it, so I stood in the fish tank. Bringing flowers is a personal experience.

This is also our collective experience.

In spring, rape, named Chinese milk vetch and unknown grass flowers, we look for the most beautiful flowers in our eyes like hardworking bees collecting nectar, pick them, take them to school, and put them in bottles and jars to make the classroom look like a garden. I wrote "Our classroom is rippling in the colorful morning glow" in my composition book. The teacher drew the sentence in red and marked it "good". This "good" made my little heart beat wildly, just as excited as the first article published in the newspaper later.

At that time, during the spring outing, the teacher led a mountain bag not far from the school. Boys and girls chirped into the jungle like tits, picked the most dazzling azaleas, and the tree decomposed and came back in full bloom. The caliber of bottles and cans in the classroom can't fit, and some of them are taken home. Mom cooks pickles and cans, and puts them high and low in the yard. Beautiful spring has come to my home.

The teacher didn't teach us what aesthetics is, let alone books and TV. Only with the cultivation from the earth can the little people feel the sweetness and joy of spring and the beauty of life. Our perception of beauty is natural.

Rain falls, warm wind blows, and swallows "baa baa" wear willow curtains. When we stripped off the silk cotton from the old cotton-padded jacket and wore only two layers of jackets, we took scissors and seedling baskets and went to the ridge to cut Malan's head, but we were more happy to pull cotton thread to fly kites. Running on the ridge with your legs crossed, you feel soft and greasy step by step, and feel weightless like stepping on blisters. I accidentally fell into the wheat field, and the wheat field was so green that my roots were tender. A soft, thick, slightly wet, flour-like child won't hurt. I took the opportunity to grunt and roll on it a few times. My limbs spread out, the sun was harsh, and I closed my eyes and left a crack. The warmth was not slightly reduced because of my empty eyes. It's not only warm, but also hot, and the coat has been taken off, leaving only a single cloth shirt, which is as loose as a butterfly's wings. When I came back from the ground, there were no grass clippings on my bald head and no grass stains of different shades on my clothes. People will also have the sweetness of grass and the smell of earth, which is the smell of spring and the body fragrance of earth.

I don't know this kind of behavior. There is an elegant saying, grounding gas and hiking.

Everything is natural, ordinary and simple, but it is this ordinary and simple that constitutes the most important part of our lives.

"You" has become my hometown that I can't go back. The old tree with flowers on its back, across a river, has nowhere to cross. Memory is like groundwater, invisible, but nourishing our souls.