Write childhood articles (the longer the better! )

At midnight when there is no wind, in this pure time that belongs only to me, suddenly, an indescribable sense of panic comes to mind and spreads inch by inch in my body. I feel suffocated and eager to escape, but sadly I find there is nowhere to go. In time, some heavy things slipped across my face, leaving traces of aging. After all, we can't escape. The wheel of time moves slowly and firmly, and is ruthlessly run over in the dust flying all the way.

To be exact, this sudden panic came from an album I saw when I was cleaning my room. This photo album, which records my childhood, has been forgotten for too long and covered with thick dust. However, it still seems unwilling to sink with the cobwebs in the dark corner of the bookcase, and always maintains a quiet and calm posture, silently waiting for the grown-up children.

The yellowed memory was reopened and flashed before my eyes, as fresh as ever. I once again picked up my lost childhood. At that time, I was dark and thin, standing between the blue sky, white clouds, spring breeze and sunny days, smiling brightly.

Laughing because of happiness and running because of excitement, we used to live so simply and directly without any cover. Perhaps, the soul of childhood is pure, soft and primitive, and when it grows up, it is closer to the eternal truth of life than the utilitarian heart of philistinism. So that there is always an illusion, as if everything at that time would always happen under the brilliant golden sunshine. Solidified, become the memory of this life.

After all, memory has turned a new page, and we are running forward blindly. Only when you look back inadvertently, do you know that you have lost too much and even forgotten your original appearance.

I remember, we took pictures, threw sandbags, played hide-and-seek and ran into kidnappers in a narrow alley or an abandoned open space. I remember, we ate peony bark and cotton candy contentedly, shouted excitedly, and flew kites while rolling iron rings; I once remembered that we ate jiaozi's new clothes and set off firecrackers collectively on New Year's Eve. I remember we were clamoring in front of the TV to watch the Smurfs Huluwa and the black cat sheriff, dreaming that we were the Monkey King Optimus Prime and Private Zhang Ga in our dreams. ...

Perhaps, we were weak in childhood. I will cry because I broke my knee, and I will tremble with fear because I sleep in separate beds with my parents. However, looking back today, this weakness is more real, calmer and more human than the current heavy defense and strong pretending. Laozi said: "The strong are the dead; Weak and implicit, students are born. Strong soldiers are invincible, and strong wood is constant. Strong, weak and refined. " At this point, I can't help sighing. It's good to cry when you want to cry!

Looking up out of the window, the city that never sleeps is still ambiguous and flashy in the neon and noise. The world in the moonlight is no longer quiet. Some people sadly recalled our childhood composition-the fantasy of the new century. At that time, we lived a simple life, but we were looking forward to a common ideal: we would have a prosperous city and a splendid life in the new century. Now this once ideal really touches us, but we can only talk to the shadows alone in exquisite buildings.

In fact, I still have to thank God, at least I was a child.

Back to childhood.

Childhood is always lingering. Looking back now, it is some distant and vague feelings. Not so specific, but so kind; I'm not sure, but it's unforgettable. The lost childhood is a dream-like memory, which can't be touched and only exists in a midnight dream. Just like watching a river, on the other side of the river is my childhood. I can only see the outline of some trees, the dense shade, but I can't see the clear lines. I forgot the color. It should be a vivid and wonderful oil painting, but in my memory it has become a black-and-white sketch model and an eternal picture. I will never go back to my childhood. The long river of time always blocks the distance between me and it.

I was a little disappointed and sighed: What a pity. I can only stand on the other side of the river and pursue it. Excavate old memories, enrich memories with the most vivid words, enrich childhood in words, and bring back real life pictures.

Even so, I can only recover one in ten thousand. Just fragmentary memories. However, this is enough. When I miss the past, my heart will always be moved and satisfied.

In retrospect, the smell of grass in my memory came to my nose. Memories are getting clearer. It was in a small bamboo forest in front of my cousin's house. In this long and narrow region, how many laughter and laughter have been left, and how many innocent joys of childhood have gone with the wind.

Summer is very hot, and most of my childhood memories are this impression. Summer always seems to be very hot, and the sun always bakes the earth high. It's sunny and bright, a little dizzy. We are always sweating. After the adults take a nap at noon, we always come to the bamboo forest to play.

Naughtily climb some nameless trees, barefoot and play hide and seek. Hiding in the bushes, hiding in the grass, leaving playmates scratching their heads, but hiding in the dark and laughing. The best feeling is that the sun shines through the mottled bamboo forest, half covering the figure and half reflecting the body. At this time, lying lazily and comfortably on the grass is really comfortable. Eyes full of green, needle-shaped bamboo leaves fluttering in the wind, making a "rustling" sound. Close your eyes, the world seems so small, and the reverie in fairy tales spreads. Occasionally, there are crisp birds singing or dancing butterflies flying by, which embellishes the colorful childhood. Childhood is full of dreams, and the air is full of poetry.

Sometimes, the annoying cicada doesn't understand the times and will shout loudly, causing trouble. Let's discuss catching a few and teach them a good lesson. Of course, there are many ways. Usually, the net is tied to the connected sticks, and then the cousin completes the task. I am always looking for a goal, no matter how cleverly you hide it, you can't escape the sharp eyes of children. My cousin is quick and tall, and almost never misses. First, I slowly touched the net, and when I was approaching the cicada, I suddenly stopped. Adjust the angle, hit hard, and cicada becomes a prisoner. Keep screaming, as if in protest, and we all cheer for my cousin. After catching it, in order to prevent cicadas from escaping, most of its wings were cut off. If you want it to bark, squeeze it hard. It's cruel to think about it today

Sometimes, we also pick some leaves, weave them into garlands and wear them on our heads. The posture, immediately have the flavor of a warrior. Learn to fight with dignity, pick up a branch in your hand, use it as a pistol, and assign battles. "Dadada" imitates the sound of guns, which is fun.

Get up early in summer morning. Come to the bamboo forest and pick some bamboo leaves. Wet dew, crystal clear, gently pressed the bamboo leaves. When there is a lot of dew, the leaves can't support the weight, so they slide round. Leaves, and then very rhythmic vibration. In an instant, it returned to its original position like a spring. That kind of elasticity is simply fantastic. Dew, dripping in the palm of your hand, is cold. Touch the bamboo leaves with your hands, and the dripping water will spread to every cell in your body.

At dusk, dig some bamboo shoots with grandma. Take a tool and dig out the soil next to it. The shovel pointed at the root and knocked a few times. Bamboo shoots grow as if they had been cut by a knife. I still can't name the flat knife tool.

When night falls, we often move our chairs outside to enjoy the cool. There is a bright moon in the sky and a bamboo forest in front of us. The breeze blew gently, bringing the fragrance of rice and flowers in the fields, shaking the shadows of trees and dancing strange natural dances. Especially on the night of power failure, the moonlight is always particularly bright. All the attention turned to the sky. The dark sky is like a big ball. The moon hangs in the sky like a bright lamp, shining brightly and weakly on the earth, like a veiled cage dream. We often imagine stories we have heard. Perhaps, the jade rabbit in the night palace is also playing at this time. On such a night, I often think of Li Bai's Silent Night Thinking: There is such bright light at the foot of my bed, is there frost already? . I looked up at the moon and looked down, feeling nostalgic. Counting the stars in the sky makes me intoxicated. Drunk in moonlight, drunk in childhood, drunk in memory.

My innocent childhood, this bamboo forest alone has many endless stories, how can people not miss it? A thousand words can't express that wonderful childhood. Time flies, and now I have revisited the old place, and that bamboo forest has long since ceased to exist. That kind of fairy tale memory can only be found in dreams. Childhood, like that colorful cloud, comes and goes gently, leaving no trace, only reappearing in dreams.

childhood

At night, I sat by the window alone, looking at the night sky, thinking of my childhood friends. I remember when I was very young, my grandmother told me that everyone was made up of a star in the sky. I believe. I compare my childhood friends to stars. So I got into the habit of looking at the stars. Every time I see the stars all over the sky, I will think of my childhood stories and every time my childhood friends spent with us.

Do you believe in fate? I believe. I think it is really a fate that we can meet and know each other among hundreds of millions of people in this world. Therefore, I cherish every friendship around me, especially my childhood friends, because we spent nine years in primary school and junior high school together. I think it's really not easy, right? How many nine years can a life have? And it is the most unforgettable childhood! Until now, I still remember everything about my childhood clearly.

Childhood is beautiful, carefree, carefree, don't think too much, we play together, study together, and express our feelings and ideals, without any intention of considering each other. Although there will always be some minor contradictions during the period, we are happy more often, but I know that all the joys and sorrows have become the past, and even the best times have become history, and will not be repeated. They can only be cherished in my heart forever.

Do you believe there are eternal things in the world? I believed it at that time, and I think my friendship with my friends will last forever. But after many years, I gradually found that people are always changing, so am I, and everyone's life circle is constantly changing. We are just a short period in each other's lives. Maybe I am like a meteor in your heart, just a moment in your life. A few years later, you may recall that you had a classmate like me before, but decades later, I have already become a vague shadow. Friendship also rusted. Although we often say that friendship remains unchanged and we naively think that we will do it, we know very well that everyone's life circle is constantly changing, so few people become friends, and few people remain friends. Wandering feelings are precious. So I dare not shout loudly: "Our friendship is eternal!" " But in my heart, I still cherish my childhood memories. I always miss the days when we were together again. I'm so happy. I know this kind of day will never exist again. Perhaps the friendship of that year has faded in your hearts. Over time, we seem to be strangers, without the passion and enthusiasm of the year. Whenever the Chinese New Year is a holiday, everyone no longer walks around, but always stays at home alone. Sometimes when I meet you online, I just say hello.

Many years have passed since I first understood the meaning of friendship. I feel that I cherish some people and forget some people, some people who want to forget but have not forgotten, and some people who don't want to forget but have lost. Life has given us a lot. Whether we accept it or not, some regrets are inevitable. It is precisely because of this that life has a kind of incomplete beauty. But I wish you all happiness. Although you may have forgotten me in the journey of life, I will always cherish the good times we spent together in my heart.

I want nothing more. Many years later, when we pass by in a corner of the world, you can point to my back and say to my friends around you: this man was my childhood classmate. Prove that there was once a me in your heart, and my heart is enough. After many years, I understand that ten thousand moments constitute the past, and ten thousand pasts constitute eternity. Eternal is not friendship, but childhood memories.

Looking up at the night sky, childhood friends, remember? We used to write beautiful memories together under this sky. No matter when and where, please don't forget that in the distance, there is a silent blessing for you: friends, take care!

Childhood outside the chapter

A

Childhood was blown away by the onion flute, blowing out the distant horizon; The river is its tail, swaying and clear, and the hills are its footprints, far-reaching and profound steps. The old elm tree on the street corner, watching its distant back, breathed deeply, and the sunset was inhaled and the sunrise was exhaled by it.

Childhood, squatting on a branch, trying to write a poem.

It was early spring, and the branches had just arched out a bright yellow tree yard. When you take a piece, you will squeeze out a new yellow juice, which is sticky and sticks to your fingers when you were young.

Childhood does not belong to branches, but my heart is full of fruits.

B

Childhood is a little titmouse, flying among flowers, nodding at the sight of a flower, flapping its wings and ringing delicate children's voices. Is the little tit asking about the way out of spring? Little tits get lost in spring.

In March, Xinghua opened her eyes and stood piously in the west wind, telling her hope to the sun. A revived butterfly flapped its wings and its tentacles waved the sun.

Childhood led me, standing on the road in March.

C

The setting sun jumped down from the mountain stream, quietly, without echo.

Under the starry sky, the frog's drums, the frog's drums knock on the heart of childhood.

Under the starry sky, my childhood heart was beating on the frog drum, and footsteps gently shook the river bank. With the game month, my childhood heart was broken in the river again and again.

Without the moon, my mother's mirror broke on the river.

Mom's headscarf is flat on the island, the stars are singing in the high sky, and the long acacia is round.

At night, the heart bird leads the way, the river heads up, and the homesick face reflects the light, like a frame of autumn moon breaking on the river.

D

In the river with snow, trees, grass and mountains, on the shore with birds, clouds and sun, open the screen and choose to enjoy Brodska Ya and the sea she hopes, just on the other side of the mountain.

The white river, the blue mountains in the distance and the green trees bear the childhood.

When I was a child, I ran to that mountain and wanted to put the whole world in my eyes. I am surrounded by trees, with the sky overhead, the birds singing in my ears and the gurgling river below. Do the five-color bottles in spring still love that year?

There are snow, trees, grass and mountains, birds and clouds, and a locked childhood.

E

Sunset slowly enters the sheepfold, childhood-front teeth smile, the moon rotates with the wind.

The horn in the distance, like the whip of time, swung over and hit the river, and the river broke, and so did my childhood, bending under the stars.

Childhood is clear water dipped in sunshine, still flowing in the spring water of my hometown.

Childhood image

One, two, three, four miles, five, six, seven flowers, eight or nine children, very homesick.

First, the silence of Xiangyang wood

The trees in my hometown are the sunniest plants, and we are children who follow the sun under the trees. It is as long as wood and as blooming as flowers.

The most vigorous tree I have ever seen in the southern countryside is neem. The fruit of this tree is slightly toxic when it is immature. It is said that some people will get sick after eating it. Moreover, neem tree has a strange smell, which can repel insects and mosquitoes, and its floral fragrance is even more charming when it blooms in spring. After the fruit of neem tree falls off, some seedlings will grow there with the erosion of rain. This often makes me curious, and I really want to see how a seed germinates and then jointing. So I will collect some seeds of neem tree and go home, put them in my own flowerpot, press them into the soil, water them constantly, and expect them to germinate constantly. However, this experience always fails. Only in Shan Ye can I find the neem seedlings that have grown about 10 inch. They thrive and can be found everywhere in Shan Ye. You can see them even on the side of the road. When I was a child, I often wondered about this. Now think about it, it should be a tree like a person. How to live by force can't last long, but how free will it be if you put it in Shan Ye? Wind, frost, rain and snow washed us away, and we fiddled with God's hand. How can we go there again?

When winter comes, the leaves of neem will turn orange. Leaves with serrated edges can easily fall off branches, just like human hair, falling without wind. And those ripe fruits will not grow very big. They fell in the shade as early as mid-autumn. Occasionally, the fruits that grow on trees until winter also wither. But it is said that it can be used as medicine. Later, I looked through the medical dictionary and remembered that it was written like this: slightly bitter, cold. In other words, it is something that I give my memory.

Every spring, I will stand by the tree and compare the height of the tree with my head. But I always can't compare with them. They are easily jointing in the sun, while I am growing at a speed several times slower than it. Of course, the difference between me and a tree is that I can walk and a tree can't. However, the tree is in one place, which is the home for life. Perhaps it is an unspeakable happiness. A walking man and a tree have an inexplicable friendship, just because they have an unspeakable similar fate. Who knows, what kind of fate will we have?

In fact, I didn't know the word neem at first. At that time, the neem tree was called Golden Bean Tree in the countryside (according to the southern accent). It grows tall and straight, without moths. Later, the teacher taught me to learn the word neem, pointing to the tree outside the window and telling me that it was neem. Melia azedarach, beloved, there must be some sad legend hidden in it, but the teacher only said a few words. Nothing was found afterwards. So I have been thinking about my neem tree and want to write something. But it didn't work. There are only a few pens now, so let's talk about them as souvenirs.

My neem tree should not be young at this time, but I am jointing. We are all under a sky, eroded by wind, frost, rain and snow, but there is nowhere to escape, and everything has to be faced. Then, in the days without sunshine, slowly grow up or grow old towards the sun, which is the happiness in the world.

Second, Chongyang cooks wine

Wine is a good thing. Most of the wine in my hometown is brewed by myself. Every time the Double Ninth Festival approaches, many families begin to soak the selected rice in water. Some people soak in a bucket, and the richer they are, the more they soak. Of course, the rice you choose is also very particular. At that time, the villagers would ask everyone they met how many pounds they had soaked. What rice? So I'll discuss it again, and I'll also talk about the good or bad, more or less, of the wine I brewed years ago. Then there is cooking wine and rice. In fact, this kind of cooked wine and rice is not much different from ordinary cooking, but it needs to be cooked harder and burned for a longer time. Then the next step is to boil distiller's grains. This process is the longest and the most magical. At that time, I thought, I put a few hard wine cakes (called country cakes) into my rice, and when they came out, they became distiller's grains. At that time, distiller's grains were sweet and children were always greedy. Put the distiller's grains in your mouth, and a slightly drunk sweet and sour taste goes straight to your throat, which makes people relaxed and happy. Of course, this should be eaten secretly and not seen by parents, otherwise it will be scolded. However, parents also turn a blind eye, because it can't be hidden. No matter what room you are in, children will find a slight smell of alcohol. After the distiller's grains are cooked, we will make wine. At this time, the Double Ninth Festival is near.

It takes a big iron pot to make wine, which is not common in ordinary people, but every village has one or two. But there were many people making wine at that time, so it was your turn to make an appointment in advance. For children, cooking wine is a very happy thing. However, when I was a child and grew up, I was away all the year round, and the opportunity to make wine was rare. I only remember making wine with my father once. At that time, my father was in front with distiller's grains on his shoulders. In the country, it's autumn and it's a little cold. However, like my father, I followed him in summer clothes and asked him all the way about the process of making wine. The pole kept vibrating rhythmically on his father's shoulder. Because it's not far to go to the next village, but it's not that close. My father was a little steaming when he walked on the road. Although it was windy at that time, I smelled the delicious alcohol all the way, and I didn't feel a little cold all the way. People kept saying hello on the road, and my father stopped to introduce me from time to time, saying that the children had been studying there for a long time, and how was the family.

I remember it was cloudy and breezy that day. This weather is just the time to cook wine. Put the wok under the sun (usually you have to build your own stove, and the ordinary stove is not big enough, so you have to put it outside), put the distiller's grains on it, light the fire, and the wind will ignite, and the fire will burn even more fiercely. Alcohol is no longer cold at this time, but full of warm breath. People walking on the road can smell the wine from a distance. At that time, I watched the fire like a little adult, and I watched it wisely and said that I knew what was going on. If the fire is too big, it will burn the wine. Without saying anything, my father happily taught me how to master the temperature and how to cook before making a very mellow wine.