? Lion Mountain, as its name implies, is named after the mountain. From a distance, it looks like a lying lion with a sphinx. It quietly looked at the people working in the fields below the mountain. The mountains in the middle tend to rise to the sky, and the tail goes to a small river. This fully explains China's geomantic theory for thousands of years-relying on mountains and rivers.
? I've always wanted to write something about my hometown, Lion Mountain. I want to write about its wild animals, its spring, summer, autumn and winter, its last year, this year, next year, its windy, rainy and snowy days, and its men and women weaving in the working season. I've been thinking about it. I've never seen ink.
When people miss the past in middle age, every time they close their eyes, it is like going back to childhood. When we were children, we didn't know the hardships of life. We laugh and fall asleep every day, and when we open our eyes, three or five friends chase us to play. In spring, everything recovers, and adults scramble to sow the seeds of spring. We also follow in the footsteps of our parents, but only playing. In summer, the sun is shining, and this river has become our paradise. Turning crabs is the first choice. Small hairy crabs, washed and fried until golden, are a tasteless midsummer morning and a dustpan. In that frugal era, river shrimp sometimes fried our stomachs. Summer brings us infinite happiness and delicious food, and also gives us a black protective film. When the rice is ripe, the golden autumn comes as scheduled, and the joy of harvest is passed on between parents. We also have an obligation to help harvest rice. My mother said, "Kill the chicken after dinner." This sentence has always been our motivation to do things. Until the end of autumn, the chicken is still "clucking" in the henhouse, and the agreed chicken is condensed into an egg. Winter is a season of frequent conversations around the fire. Snacks are indeed the most, such as fried peanuts, smashed walnuts, baked sweet potatoes and so on. The smell of happiness pervades this small mountain village.
? I woke up, my eyes were wet, and the impulse to write came. I decided to write them down one by one. For myself, for our poor and beautiful time.