Holding the gravel, the fingertips slipped through the drizzling spring breeze, the air in May was mottled with a shade, the flowers and grass were in full bloom, and the shy stamens were held in their hands, carefully pulling a few strings of Sophora japonica flowers as clear as jade, and gently closing their eyes at the moment of entrance. Those who hit the nose directly touched their hearts.
On the mighty spring day, dancing on the branches in the breeze, the unpretentious trees are full of small broken flowers, and the bright and gentle fragrance is spinning. This time is the best time to satisfy everyone's taste and appetite. Adults and children are busy picking a lot of flowers and some Sophora leaves, aiming to live up to the wonderful spring scenery and solve the temporary difficulties in the tight days.
At dawn, the air is full of long legs and wings, surging and sweeping, full of dreamy fragrance. My grandfather and I are tall and short, and step on the winding path in tandem to pick Sophora japonica flowers not far from home, because we have picked all the flowers outside our home. Grandpa picked the bottom one by hand and put it directly in the basket. The last one scratched the hook with a jujube pole, stood under the tree, stood on tiptoe, straightened his neck, and swung from side to side. When picking the pole, branches and flowers hung on the hook. I was just waiting to help grandpa pick flowers. Every time my grandfather hooks a branch, the chubby Sophora japonica will grin at me. I will also kick out a hearty laugh in my skipping feet, smell the smell of Sophora japonica, swallow a mouthful of saliva in my mouth, and repeatedly try to sneak a bite behind my grandfather, even if it is only a bite. When grandpa saw my caution and told me that I could eat something, I just ate a little lantern and realized that I couldn't control my greed. I won't give up again. I thought to myself that one day I would be full.
Sophora japonica was taken home. Grandpa and I put the flowers in the basket, poured them into the basin with cold water, washed them and fished out the water. These split Sophora japonica flowers will become different delicacies in the hands of different people. Mother poured corn flour out of the porcelain basin with boiling water, sprinkled some Sophora japonica, put salt on it, scooped out the dough, patted it into a round cake with the palm of her hand, and then scooped out the noodles with one end of the round cake on the panel, in order to make the steamed corn bread stand steady, so that the steamed corn bread came out in an hour. Grandma put the washed Sophora japonica in corn flour, add chopped green onion, salt and pepper powder, then sprinkle water with chopsticks, steam for half an hour with high fire, pound a few almonds after taking out the pot, add some pepper, and stir-fry the steamed rotten seeds in the pot. The smell is very attractive.
At that time, no matter how tempting my mother's steamed corn was, and no matter her mother's reproachful eyes, as long as grandma's almonds were put into the pot and fried, the fragrance brought our sisters together. We curled up in the corner, leaned out of our four little heads, stared at them with eight eyes, and our lips twisted up and down. Is really like saliva three thousands of feet, as long as the side. When desire is blank, air can also satisfy hunger. In that era when people didn't have enough to eat, that sweet smell was a treasure that all cities could never buy.
Growing up, I was intoxicated by the fragrance of Qionghua, which led me to the end of the world. My friends and I went to a soil slope, where locust trees and elms grew side by side, and the smell of yucai rice remained in my mouth. In the most brilliant time, Sophora japonica stands still, and the most wanton Sophora japonica blooms. The branches of elm trees are intertwined, and from a distance, they seem to have been touched by daxian. The elm tree is grafted with the branches of the tree, producing a thick, dense, white and full ear. We wrap flowers hanging on trees, flowers flying in the air, and white flowers at our feet. Everyone wants to swallow this sweet fragrance.
Without any girl's reserve, I, a gluttonous eater, want to perform a one-man show "Women don't let men have eyebrows". Unfortunately, acacia is full of thorns (so it is also called Robinia pseudoacacia), so it can't be done. When I was in a hurry to get angry, my neighbor's lock turned round and round. I had an idea and said, "You can eat Sophora japonica even if you go to Yushu!" " "When his voice splashed on the ground, I whizzed up the elm tree next to me, sat on the elm branch like a little wolf who hadn't eaten for days, greedily ate sweet Sophora japonica, giggled at the playmates under the tree, stared at the golden gold eagerly like Grandet, and thought about the immortal rushes more like Yan Jiansheng. I was selfish and stingy and reluctant to throw it to my friends. Some arrogant tearing branches, cheeks full of chewing. I wanted to have a hearty meal, but I never thought that a gust of wind blew down all my hopes and sent me down the slope from the tree. I only heard a scream in my buzzing head, and a voice calling my real name "Steve" ...
I don't remember how long it was. I opened my eyes, with a small round head around my head. I tried to move. Well, I moved. I didn't fall. I got up from the ground, and my playmates were happy that I was all right. I have been in Hedong for 30 years, and in a flash I have been in Hexi for 30 years. For this reason, I went home and criticized it. I really experienced a terrible tragedy of getting carried away. I am secretly happy: my little wish has come true.
Year after year, the old locust tree was cut down to the ground, like blocking the coolness in the shade of my heart, scattering white dust all over the floor and falling into the sky. In a corner of the moment, a moment of looking back, it fell into the memory of the past when I was young, lived in the spiritual world, embroidered into a pillow, and treasured into an album with the fragrance of Sophora japonica.
The sunset will not die, it will come back as a new dawn. Black locust with intoxicating fragrance and snow-white figure disappeared in front of the house and was replaced by a tree with odd pinnate leaves and thriving. The fiery red sun blows the clouds and the wind, and the Sophora japonica stands proudly, with lush foliage and elegant crown, calmly raising the emerald shadow like an umbrella cover and meditating in the sky.
At the intersection of yin and yang, the Sophora japonica flowers facing each other from afar outside the hospital inject vitality into the lush belly. Short-lived infatuation is the oil and honey dripped on June. I want to enjoy the cool, so whenever this time, I try to turn it over quietly with a blank and skip this annoying scene. Inadvertently, there are grape-like particles in the shade of trees, dotted with rice flowers. At this time, the mother's eager expression is more beautiful than the butterfly shuttling through the branches. That expression carries the hope of daily necessities, and that expression is different from the old days. Even without words, her world has cast a cloud shadow, crossed the river and crossed the village through the enduring fragrance of rice and flowers.
On a day like this, every day is the best time to pick Sophora japonica and the busiest day for the whole family. Sometimes, my brother and I work together, one person and one tree; Sometimes it's me, the king kong, who monopolizes porcelain work and picks Sophora japonica flowers one by one every day. Climbing up the tree, I cut one branch after another with hooks and sickle forks. From the initial resistance, to unwilling, even a little angry. At the last minute, I flew for a while With the click, I looked at the rice flowers built high under the tree. There is a small heart throbbing in a small harvest, and I seem to have a crush, and my sense of self is quietly expanding. Mom quickly picked it up on the ground. No matter how she picked it up, there seems to be a cornucopia on the ground, which will always be a small fortress. Such work must be carried out in continuous sunny days, and such work may last for several days. During those days, we were tired and happy, just because the scissors flew out of our bones and were always thrifty. The scattered Sophora japonica held out the heart of a child and the summer vision of the whole family.
From the day when the Sophora japonica was picked, my mother bent over and soaked in the Sophora japonica field every day, highlighting her rough hands with her knuckles, basking in the Sophora japonica with a bad smell and even some sweaty feet. How many years did this collection work last? I don't remember exactly which year it was collected. I only remember that this job was done by my old father who retired at home later.
When my father was seventy-two years old, I went home to visit my parents. My father sprinkled rice flowers on the locust tree. This move really scared me, but my father reacted quickly. After a while, a hill piled up under the tree, which was not as bad as I thought. After observing for a long time, I left safely. I remember that few people seemed to buy Sophora japonica at that time, and my mother still took pains to pick, dry and collect it. I was annoyed with my mother's disappointment. My father said, "Your mother doesn't want to see it blossom and waste it. For a lifetime, she is like this, don't blame her! " Mother no longer does this to fill the daily household. Perhaps her mother has an inseparable dependence on the click of scissors. Every Sophora japonica is her hope and reverie, and every flower that goes with the wind is printed with her white feelings in the blue sky. Mother looked at spring and autumn, the old house and a winding longing for the rising and falling moon in silence. So, I let go of all my emotions, made my father's advice delicious and cooked it slowly on the steamer in my heart.
At present, the roadside trees on both sides of the road used to be weeping willows or poplars, which have long been replaced by fatong and Sophora japonica. Sophora japonica is only used for shading, and the green Sophora japonica has long been ignored. From Sophora japonica to Sophora japonica, in the sharp edge of years, Sophora japonica has lost the mission of traditional dyeing technology, and is like a dead old man in the vast world, interpreting the legend in history.
In midsummer, flowers and trees can't escape the suffering of July. In front of vision, the illusion of temptation is still obeying the running of hot air. The pale yellow dress with small broken flowers on the green background is eagerly looking forward to becoming a blooming Sophora japonica, with a little rain in the bright and beautiful, and the fragrance is still quietly blooming from the petals. Looking back, at the end of wandering, time has passed, and the moonlight is just right. I have left traces in Sophora japonica, showing the faint fragrance of flowers. Petals wither frequently, and the fragrance diffuses to tempt passers-by to drool. My feet step on the thick fallen petal path, but the soft feeling is as lonely as Lin Daiyu's funeral song, just waiting for Sophora japonica to burst out with a good medicine to improve the taste and cure the rheumatism caused by my mother's fatigue.
Sophora japonica leaves the stage, and the Sophora japonica in the old house quietly fades out of my sight. What caught my eye was that my father carefully selected two favorite locust tree seedlings from two seed fields he cultivated and stood outside the gate like two guards. This longhuai is two big seedling farms that my father planted in partnership with my uncle in his spare time in order to let our four sisters have a bright future and live a personal life. The hard work of the old father was cast in this seedling; This seedling is full of old father's hope for the whole family; This seedling accompanied the old father through the sunset. This longhuai devoted herself to her beauty, growing wildly and dancing year after year, until she could bear Sophora japonica flowers, and her mother was still picking them, even if there were only three or two branches. Mother's scissors have been cut day and night for decades, watching the blue sky and white clouds go back and forth, listening to the breeze and drizzle passing through the mountain village, and only the unchanging expression is still looking around. ...
Robinia pseudoacacia-Sophora japonica-Sophora japonica, its fragrance lasts throughout May, June, July and August. This Sophora japonica has been in front of my house. It looks like flower of life and will never wither and become a part of our flesh and blood. No matter the old people say that Sophora japonica is a geomantic tree, it can ward off evil spirits for the people in the village. Only in the days with Sophora japonica, love and scenery have created miracles of mountains and rivers.
Huaihuai, regardless of whether there is a concern for the country and the people in this bosom? Does this tree have the meaning of homesickness? All I know is that this Sophora japonica flower has great vitality. As long as there is soil, it can grow everywhere and multiply endlessly. I only saw that in recent years, when acacia was fragrant in May, there were countless hands in the park. In order to satisfy one's taste buds, it is understandable to pick a bunch of flowers that are in bud and smiling in the green leaves, but when picking flowers, ignorance is almost crazy, and the tree is stripped into a foodie hanging in the air and swaying in the wind; I seem to vaguely hear those orphans who lost their mothers, as thin as mosquitoes and flies, crying vaguely, complaining that they were killed for no reason, and this extreme grievance can't be told.
Walking, often passing by, my heart is trembling. As the saying goes, "a new scene is bathed in wind and rain, and a silver bell hangs on the skin of ice muscle and jade." Flowers are charming and competitive, and plain makeup is not named after silver. It hurts to break a branch and hurt a pole. Being kind-hearted and soft-hearted is really Guanyin, a tree is fragrant and a tree is sad, and a thousand ears are full of silver! "In this way, a cross of sympathy hangs around my neck.
For this cross, I am willing to carry it forever.