|  I
often cannot take off my eyes from photos of my hometown. Homely
streets and alleys, dilapidated roofs and walls, tiny and dirty
wharves, have come back to mean so much to me. So
much, so far away, and so long ago, that they have become fond
memories--even those
poverty-stricken days, those hardship-ridden days, those days
when my mom took me and my brother to the field to look for abandoned
sweet potatoes, those days when I would climb the trees to collect
dried branches for firewood, those days when I would walk to school,
barefoot, of a frosted morning.
Here is a
short essay about my home, hometown,
and hometown river written in 1979.
 My
hometown on Nine-Dragon river in 2007
|
熟悉的家乡人家乡貌往往使我陶醉。不经眼的街巷，斑驳的瓦墙，杂乱的码头，竟然带来那麽多、那麽久远的回忆。而且因为多，因为久远，竟然忘却了那些窘迫的、寒酸的、惨淡的日子。雨后去地里挖掘被遗忘的蕃薯，课馀去树上寻找乾树枝当柴薪，赤足踏著草地上的晨霜去上学，
都成了可堪回首的记忆。
|
