Mother

It is close to the end of the year, and even many places in the south where snow is rarely seen are affected by heavy snow. Some people call this winter the coldest winter in history. The outdoor is ice and snow, a Looks White. Sitting in the warm room, looking at the confused world of ice and snow outside the window, I thought of my mother and mother again. The New Year is coming, and the winter comes and goes is another cycle. I wonder if you are living well this year? A few days ago, I went to the old house and opened the door. The first thing I saw was the tricycle accompanying you for many years under the pergola and the pile of firewood that you piled up occupied more than half of the pergola space. Because no one took care of it for a long time, the tricycle was rusty. And the firewood pile was still neatly stacked except for some spider webs on the surface. Standing in front of the firewood pile, I have already been tearful. These small pieces of wood cut by your axe are like crafts one by one, with the same length, neat and square, sharp edges and corners, passing through the hazy tears, I seem to see your busy figure again. Each piece of firewood is cut and placed by yourself. Your sweat, your breath and your mark are left on each piece of firewood. Although you have left us for nearly five years, but we have always kept the original appearance of woodpile, and no one has ever touched it. Not long ago, someone wanted to buy this pile of firewood, but we refused, because in our eyes, it had already surpassed the meaning of firewood itself, it carries our most direct concerns and thoughts about you, and in a sense, it has become a spiritual sustenance in our sisters’ hearts. In the past, when you came home in winter, you were always afraid that we would be frozen. Although the fire in the room was booming, you still needed to put in a few firewood to make the fire more prosperous. When we opened the door, the surging heat wave made us feel warm when we stepped into the house from the outside of the ice and snow. The firewood in the stove crackled, the teapot on the stove was steaming, and the smell of burning potatoes and roasted sweet potatoes drifted in the room. After many years, I often remembered the steaming hot, sweet and delicious sweet potatoes and potatoes are still fragrant with endless aftertaste. These scenes have been deeply engraved in my mind for a long time, becoming the most deeply rooted memories of home in my subconscious mind. I don’t know how my old mother rode a tricycle to transport those tree roots back home, and then chopped and sawed them one by one, which formed such a huge firewood pile over time, what an arduous project it should be. As our sisters got married one after another, the living conditions in the family have also been greatly improved. We also tried to take our mother to live in the city, but we have been used to the rural life, unable to bear the imprisonment and bondage of reinforced concrete, he insisted on returning to the regimental yard in less than a year. Since then, we have repeatedly dissuaded her from having a good rest and not picking up and chopping the roots of the tree. However, the mother who was used to working promised us verbally, but she still supported me behind her back. I learned from my neighbor that even before getting sick and being hospitalized, my mother was still picking up crops by tricycle and still chopping firewood. Until now, I have always doubted whether my mother’s illness is caused by overwork? Every time when such an idea comes into being, the feeling of guilt will tightly control me, and then I will fall into deep self-accusation and cannot help myself. Stepping on the snow without knees, we came to my mother’s grave again. Mom, we come to see you again. According to your preference, we brought your favorite tangerine, banana, candy and pastry, specially stewed meat and eggs without spicy flavor, and the Sichuan snacks brought to you by your granddaughter thousands of miles away are the same as those brought back home for the Spring Festival. Put the new year’s goods one by one, take up the glasses, and we will bless the mother of heaven for the new year together and chat with you, talk about the past of this year and the plans for the new year, and talk about the growth and learning of the grandchildren you care about; Talk about your familiar neighbor mother, and don’t know whether the world you live in is the same as the world, four Seasons Greeting sent, New Year endless? Is there any cold and ice? Do you have a warm fire to keep warm in the winter when snow blossoms fly? In the cold wind, we lit the firecrackers of the Spring Festival and the money we brought to you, hoping that this electrooptic artillery full of human fireworks could be like the firewood you added to warm us in those years, to dispel the cold and send you warmth. May this piece of paper money flying with butterfly bring our deep thoughts and blessings to you. Mom, happy new year. Like (prose editor: Jiangnan wind) the snow in spring

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