The luffa vine begins to climb

Last night, I went to the roof again and found that the loofah vine that had been climbing on the rope for nearly three months was dead and no longer full of vitality. The withered yellow leaves were listless in the cool breeze. In fact, this loofah was about to die a long time ago. When the fire-like air waves hit the land of central Fujian on a large scale, no one could drag it back from the edge of death. I work hard on it and water it twice every morning and evening. Still dead. What I thought was a kind of labor in the first half of the year ended quietly like this.

In fact, this is a kind of poet's labor. It is just a small space for self-exploration and self-extension outside the home. Inside, the body is pulled by force, not very heavy, just slight.

I don’t remember the specific day in March. It had just rained in the mountains and it was very humid. Downstairs, I found a rusty hoe. Like me, I have not been involved in labor for a long time, and I am eager to gradually shine through the friction with the soil. Concrete fields are spreading everywhere, and the land available for planting is gradually becoming less and less. But fertile soil can be obtained under the broadleaf trees in the back mountain. It took me two afternoons to carry the required soil to the roof. The roof is also a cement floor. Covering the entire 130-square-meter roof was just my extravagant wish. I didn't have the ability to implement it. I just made a square with bricks in one corner of the roof and poured the soil from my back into it. Now that we have the soil, we are waiting for the arrival of a loofah seedling. I like vines, and loofah is one of them. The way it climbs is similar to my thoughts. It has yellow flowers and fruits swinging in the air. The shade it creates is also a must for me in summer, as it can block direct sunlight.

Not long ago, I bought a loofah seedling from the street and planted it on the originally designated site. When it started to climb slowly, it was messy and disorganized. This was the result of no guidance. People and things are the same, they need guidance to reach the set height. I inserted a few bamboo branches picked up from Qingyin River, pulled a rope in the air, and set a walking route for it, and it obeyed my arrangements. Soon after, traces of the loofah vine appeared on the rope, with large green leaves and yellow flowers blooming. I once told my wife that this summer, you can eat the loofahs I grow. Once something is said, it is difficult to take it back. I treat it as fulfilling a promise, and I take care of it very carefully. It did bear a few unexpectedly small fruits, but they withered halfway, turning from green to white, but never matured. I don’t know if it’s because of my neglectful hands or whether it’s because even if I fertilize and water continuously on the roof, it’s difficult to bear fruit in the space formed on the cement floor. I don't know, but it's alive, completing its life cycle in the cracks of the building, and there's no need to explore the reason why it doesn't bear fruit. In the noisy and hot weather, it is difficult for people, let alone the weak animals.

When the luffa vine started climbing, it was very fast. Its pointed head thought it could pass through any obstacle. But when it hit the hot concrete, its head naturally hung down, dried up naturally, and stopped crawling. I experienced the life and death process of a loofah from the side. Although I gained nothing, even though it was a light labor and I shed a lot of sweat, I realized the fullness of time and the inevitability of life from prosperity to decline. What is even more worthwhile is seeing that the labor not far away is the real labor, which is much greater than my labor. In comparison, my labor is negligible. Since the beginning of July, every morning and evening, I quietly watched their dark arms, swinging big hammers, pounding the concrete up and down, knocking a complete stone building into hundreds of holes, fragments, and slowly becoming... short and eventually razed to the ground. Even if the knocking noise they make haunts my days, making me restless and confused, and the dust they raise covers the window sill, sneaks into my home, and even gets on my earholes, I will still pay for their Moved by their labor, they were also moved by their refusal to succumb to their humble lives and their attitude of drinking water as if no one else was watching.