Chu Ci's Answer to the Reading Question of The Old House

(1) In my life, no matter where I live, in my subconscious, only the old house in the country is called home.

(2) My old house is just an ordinary farmhouse built on the mountain, with blue tiles on the earth walls and Chinese fir doors and windows. Several rooms near the west end are still covered with straw, and the mountain wind is blowing, which smells like grass chips and is faint. However, the years have passed away mercilessly. Now, the scale tiles in the old house are covered with moss, the dust on the yellow mud wall falls off, and the two slightly heavy doors are mottled with paint, bursting with deep and shallow cracks, like crow's feet all over the old man's forehead.

(3) The old house is really "old". At sunset, I stood at the entrance of the village and looked into the distance. It seems to sleep soundly, perhaps because it is too tired, sleeping so peacefully and quietly.

(4) I silently approached the old house. In the sunset, the wind is like a bergamot, gently rubbing the vegetation on the roadside, and there is no sound; The bird perched wearily on the tree, sticking out its pointed mouth to comb its feathers and didn't sing. Maybe they are in the same mood as me at the moment-gently touching the dark brown door, but afraid to open it, for fear of disturbing the old house and breaking its dream.

(5) My childhood was in a dream. It was also in this evening that the sun gradually set and my mother's long and short voice called me home floated under the eaves. I, as well as chickens, ducks, cattle and sheep, are going in the same direction-the old house with a light cage for cooking smoke, crushing the sun all the way. I can't help but look up. The smoke on the roof seems to be still there, and the smell of rice seems to be still there, fluttering and falling on my nose. At the moment, I really want to run into the house like I was a child, pick up a delicious rice crust and put it in my mouth, and then listen to my mother calling me a "greedy cat" ...

(6) The old house is the home of the heart. When I finally lifted my foot into the threshold, a long-lost feeling came to my mind: I really got home.

The old house is my father's painstaking masterpiece. When I was a child, I often heard my father say that he and his family were hoeing and breaking ground under the scorching sun, and the stars were rushing for wood, bricks and sand until the north wind roared in winter. A is like a bird's nest in spring. After many twists and turns, it finally builds its own nest. B At that time, whenever relatives and friends visited, my father would happily pat the doors and windows, or point to the rafters and beams on the house and praise his house for its durability. One autumn day, a photographer came to this village. My father, who usually doesn't like taking pictures, suddenly changed into his only Chinese tunic suit and took photos with his family in front of the old house. I was repeatedly told to remember that a golden nest is not as good as my own kennel.

(8) After decades, things have changed in a blink of an eye. Grandma and dad went to another world, and my mother and I lived together in the city. It's late at night, and I'm sitting alone in my room, with a lonely lamp and a shadow. The room is empty.

(9) The first quarter moon is thin outside the window. Maybe I have been separated from it for too long, and we are strangers to each other. It just showed half its face and turned to hide in the thin clouds. It suddenly occurred to me that the moon at home didn't seem like this when I was a child. At that time, it followed me wherever I went. One summer night, grandma put me on the bed while I was enjoying the cool outside. The moon quietly followed me through the window and stroked my face. I still remember grandma sitting on the edge of the bed, fanning me and humming nursery rhymes: moonlight, night light, accompanying my dear Lang … I fell asleep in a daze, and grandma's singing continued, like a gentle moon, falling on my pillow and in my dream. Tonight, I can restore all the details with the fragments of my memory, but I can never hear grandma's singing again. Only the carved bed lying in the corner seems to have reached some kind of tacit understanding with me, irrefutably witnessing the family happiness here.

(10) and that night, I couldn't sleep for a long time.

(1 1) The next morning, the sun just came out, and the warm sunshine was projected on the roof of the old house, dyed into a familiar golden color. I wander around the old house, and every step is like bending down to pick up a childhood memory. On the threshold, my father sat on his knees and talked about the Three Kingdoms with great joy. In the miscellaneous room, the mother sifted the chaff and cut vegetables to feed the pigs; Chasing hide-and-seek with childhood friends in the bamboo forest in Houshan; On the road in front of the house, hold high the torch and follow the adults to the movies ... In my eyes, the old house is a big book full of affection and love. Open any page and you will find the warmth of the source of life.

(12) After breakfast, I stood at the door of the old house and chatted with my relatives and friends. The little nephew next door advised me to tear down the old house and build a fashionable "second floor"

(13) I shook my head: no! How did he know that without my old house, my soul could only wander around the world.

1. This article describes the author's experience of visiting this old house. Please extract the sentences in the article and complete the author's whereabouts.

2. Read paragraph (2) carefully and talk about the author's feelings in the description of the old house.

The description in the article is very pitiful. Referring to the example, choose one of the two underlined sentences describing the father AB in paragraph (7) for analysis.

Example: One summer night, grandma put me to bed while enjoying the cool outside. The moon quietly followed me through the window and stroked my face.

Analysis: The word "touch" uses personification to vividly write grandma's love and spiritual comfort to "me" through the moon.

4. The sentence with wavy lines in paragraph (9) is intriguing. How to understand that "Grandma's Song" falls in "My Dream"?

5. What do you think of the author's decision not to tear down the old house at last? Combine the full text and talk to real life.

Answer:

1, standing at the entrance of the village and looking from afar → silently approaching the old house → stepping on the threshold → sitting silently in the main room → wandering inside and outside the old house.

2. It not only contains the intimacy of the author when he returns to his old house, but also contains the author's regret for his old house.

3. Example 1: A. The metaphor of "Spring Swallows Mud" vividly shows my father's painstaking efforts to build a new house, full of longing, and it is really touching to read.

Example 2: B, "pat" and "dot" vividly show the joy and pride of my father after he built the house.

It not only means that grandma still sings nursery rhymes after I fall asleep, but also means that grandma's nursery rhymes and grandma's love are deeply branded in my childhood memory.

Example 1: I think the author's decision is correct. Because the old house is old, it has preserved his childhood memories and warm affection. When he returns to the old house, his soul will have a home. In real life, we need not only good living conditions, but also a spiritual home. For example, when people move or travel far away, they always have a special feeling for their hometown. So the author's decision is understandable.

Ex. 2: I don't think it is appropriate for the author to make such a decision. Although his childhood memories and warm affection are preserved in the old house, which gives his soul a home, indulging in the past will often hinder the progress of life; With the development of the times, it is the trend of social development to demolish old houses and rebuild fashionable new ones. So the old house still needs to be demolished.

Ex. 3: I think the author's decision has his reasons as well as his shortcomings. The reason is that his childhood memories and warm affection are preserved in the old house. When he returns to the old house, his soul will have a home. Inappropriate: people can't always stay in the past. It is the need of the times to tear down the old and build a new one. We should keep pace with the times. (1) In my life, no matter where I live, in my subconscious, only the old house in the country is called home.

(2) My old house is just an ordinary farmhouse built on the mountain, with blue tiles on the earth walls and Chinese fir doors and windows. Several rooms near the west end are still covered with straw, and the mountain wind is blowing, which smells like grass chips and is faint. However, the years have passed away mercilessly. Now, the scale tiles in the old house are covered with moss, the dust on the yellow mud wall falls off, and the two slightly heavy doors are mottled with paint, bursting with deep and shallow cracks, like crow's feet all over the old man's forehead.

(3) The old house is really "old". At sunset, I stood at the entrance of the village and looked into the distance. It seems to sleep soundly, perhaps because it is too tired, sleeping so peacefully and quietly.

(4) I silently approached the old house. In the sunset, the wind is like a bergamot, gently rubbing the vegetation on the roadside, and there is no sound; The bird perched wearily on the tree, sticking out its pointed mouth to comb its feathers and didn't sing. Maybe they are in the same mood as me at the moment-gently touching the dark brown door, but afraid to open it, for fear of disturbing the old house and breaking its dream.

(5) My childhood was in a dream. It was also in this evening that the sun gradually set and my mother's long and short voice called me home floated under the eaves. I, as well as chickens, ducks, cattle and sheep, are going in the same direction-the old house with a light cage for cooking smoke, crushing the sun all the way. I can't help but look up. The smoke on the roof seems to be still there, and the smell of rice seems to be still there, fluttering and falling on my nose. At the moment, I really want to run into the house like I was a child, pick up a delicious rice crust and put it in my mouth, and then listen to my mother scold me as a "greedy cat" ...

(6) The old house is the home of the heart. When I finally lifted my foot into the threshold, a long-lost feeling came to my mind: I really got home.

The old house is my father's painstaking masterpiece. When I was a child, I often heard my father say that he and his family were hoeing and breaking ground under the scorching sun, and stars were flying overhead to transport firewood, bricks and sand until the north wind roared in winter. A is like a bird's nest in spring. After many twists and turns, it finally builds its own nest. B At that time, whenever relatives and friends visited, my father would happily pat the doors and windows, or point to the rafters and beams on the house and praise his house for its durability. One autumn day, a photographer came to this village. My father, who usually doesn't like taking pictures, suddenly changed into his only Chinese tunic suit and took photos with his family in front of the old house. I was repeatedly told to remember that a golden nest is not as good as my own kennel.

(8) After decades, things have changed in a blink of an eye. Grandma and dad went to another world, and my mother and I lived together in the city. It's late at night, and I'm sitting alone in my room, with a lonely lamp and a shadow. The room is empty.

(9) The first quarter moon is thin outside the window. Maybe I have been separated from it for too long, and we are strangers to each other. It just showed half its face and turned to hide in the thin clouds. It suddenly occurred to me that the moon at home didn't seem like this when I was a child. At that time, it followed me wherever I went. One summer night, grandma put me on the bed while I was enjoying the cool outside. The moon quietly followed me through the window and stroked my face. I still remember grandma sitting on the edge of the bed, fanning me and humming nursery rhymes: moonlight, night light, accompanying my dear Lang … I fell asleep in a daze, and grandma's singing continued, like a gentle moon, falling on my pillow and in my dream. Tonight, I can restore all the details with the fragments of my memory, but I can never hear grandma's singing again. Only the carved bed lying in the corner seems to have reached some kind of tacit understanding with me, irrefutably witnessing the family happiness here.

(10) and that night, I couldn't sleep for a long time.

(1 1) The next morning, the sun had just risen, and the warm sunshine was projected on the roof of the old house, dyed into a familiar golden color. I wander around the old house, and every step is like bending down to pick up a childhood memory. On the threshold, my father sat on his knees and talked about the Three Kingdoms with great joy. In the miscellaneous room, the mother sifted the chaff and cut vegetables to feed the pigs; Chasing hide-and-seek with childhood friends in the bamboo forest in Houshan; On the road in front of the house, hold high the torch and follow the adults to the movies ... In my eyes, the old house is a big book full of affection and love. Open any page and you will find the warmth of the source of life.

(12) After breakfast, I stood at the door of the old house and chatted with my relatives and friends. The little nephew next door advised me to tear down the old house and build a fashionable "second floor"

(13) I shook my head: no! How did he know that without my old house, my soul could only wander around the world.

1. This article describes the author's experience of visiting this old house. Please extract the sentences in the article and complete the author's whereabouts.

2. Read paragraph (2) carefully and talk about the author's feelings in the description of the old house.

The description in the article is very pitiful. Referring to the example, choose one of the two underlined sentences describing the father AB in paragraph (7) for analysis.

Example: One summer night, grandma put me to bed while enjoying the cool outside. The moon quietly followed me through the window and stroked my face.

Analysis: The word "touch" uses personification to vividly write grandma's love and spiritual comfort to "me" through the moon.

4. The sentence with wavy lines in paragraph (9) is intriguing. How to understand that "Grandma's Song" falls in "My Dream"?

5. What do you think of the author's decision not to tear down the old house at last? Combine the full text and talk to real life.

Answer:

1, standing at the entrance of the village and looking from afar → silently approaching the old house → stepping on the threshold → sitting silently in the main room → wandering inside and outside the old house.

2. It not only contains the intimacy of the author when he returns to his old house, but also contains the author's regret for his old house.

3. Example 1: A. The metaphor of "Spring Swallows Mud" vividly shows my father's painstaking efforts to build a new house, full of longing, and it is really touching to read.

Example 2: B, "pat" and "dot" vividly show the joy and pride of my father after he built the house.

It not only means that grandma still sings nursery rhymes after I fall asleep, but also means that grandma's nursery rhymes and grandma's love are deeply branded in my childhood memory.

Example 1: I think the author's decision is correct. Because the old house is old, it has preserved his childhood memories and warm affection. When he returns to the old house, his soul will have a home. In real life, we need not only good living conditions, but also a spiritual home. For example, when people move or travel far away, they always have a special feeling for their hometown. So the author's decision is understandable.

Ex. 2: I don't think it is appropriate for the author to make such a decision. Although his childhood memories and warm affection are preserved in the old house, which gives his soul a home, indulging in the past will often hinder the progress of life; With the development of the times, it is the trend of social development to demolish old houses and rebuild fashionable new ones. So the old house still needs to be demolished.

Ex. 3: I think the author's decision has his reasons as well as his shortcomings. The reason is that his childhood memories and warm affection are preserved in the old house. When he returns to the old house, his soul will have a home. Inappropriate: people can't always stay in the past. It is the need of the times to tear down the old and build a new one. We should keep pace with the times. (1) In my life, no matter where I live, in my subconscious, only the old house in the country is called home.

(2) My old house is just an ordinary farmhouse built on the mountain, with blue tiles on the earth walls and Chinese fir doors and windows. Several rooms near the west end are still covered with straw, and the mountain wind is blowing, which smells like grass chips and is faint. However, the years have passed away mercilessly. Now, the scale tiles in the old house are covered with moss, the dust on the yellow mud wall falls off, and the two slightly heavy doors are mottled with paint, bursting with deep and shallow cracks, like crow's feet all over the old man's forehead.

(3) The old house is really "old". At sunset, I stood at the entrance of the village and looked into the distance. It seems to sleep soundly, perhaps because it is too tired, sleeping so peacefully and quietly.

(4) I silently approached the old house. In the sunset, the wind is like a bergamot, gently rubbing the vegetation on the roadside, and there is no sound; The bird perched wearily on the tree, sticking out its pointed mouth to comb its feathers and didn't sing. Maybe they are in the same mood as me at the moment-gently touching the dark brown door, but afraid to open it, for fear of disturbing the old house and breaking its dream.

(5) My childhood was in a dream. It was also in this evening that the sun gradually set and my mother's long and short voice called me home floated under the eaves. I, as well as chickens, ducks, cattle and sheep, are going in the same direction-the old house with a light cage for cooking smoke, crushing the sun all the way. I can't help but look up. The smoke on the roof seems to be still there, and the smell of rice seems to be still there, fluttering and falling on my nose. At the moment, I really want to run into the house like I was a child, pick up a delicious rice crust and put it in my mouth, and then listen to my mother scold me as a "greedy cat" ...

(6) The old house is the home of the heart. When I finally lifted my foot into the threshold, a long-lost feeling came to my mind: I really got home.

The old house is my father's painstaking masterpiece. When I was a child, I often heard my father say that he and his family were hoeing and breaking ground under the scorching sun, and stars were flying overhead to transport firewood, bricks and sand until the north wind roared in winter. A is like a bird's nest in spring. After many twists and turns, it finally builds its own nest. B At that time, whenever relatives and friends visited, my father would happily pat the doors and windows, or point to the rafters and beams on the house and praise his house for its durability. One autumn day, a photographer came to this village. My father, who usually doesn't like taking pictures, suddenly changed into his only Chinese tunic suit and took photos with his family in front of the old house. I was repeatedly told to remember that a golden nest is not as good as my own kennel.

(8) After decades, things have changed in a blink of an eye. Grandma and dad went to another world, and my mother and I lived together in the city. It's late at night, and I'm sitting alone in my room, with a lonely lamp and a shadow. The room is empty.

(9) The first quarter moon is thin outside the window. Maybe I have been separated from it for too long, and we are strangers to each other. It just showed half its face and turned to hide in the thin clouds. It suddenly occurred to me that the moon at home didn't seem like this when I was a child. At that time, it followed me wherever I went. One summer night, grandma put me on the bed while I was enjoying the cool outside. The moon quietly followed me through the window and stroked my face. I still remember grandma sitting on the edge of the bed, fanning me and humming nursery rhymes: moonlight, night light, accompanying my dear Lang … I fell asleep in a daze, and grandma's singing continued, like a gentle moon, falling on my pillow and in my dream. Tonight, I can restore all the details with the fragments of my memory, but I can never hear grandma's singing again. Only the carved bed lying in the corner seems to have reached some kind of tacit understanding with me, irrefutably witnessing the family happiness here.

(10) and that night, I couldn't sleep for a long time.

(1 1) The next morning, the sun had just risen, and the warm sunshine was projected on the roof of the old house, dyed into a familiar golden color. I wander around the old house, and every step is like bending down to pick up a childhood memory. On the threshold, my father sat on his knees and talked about the Three Kingdoms with great joy. In the miscellaneous room, the mother sifted the chaff and cut vegetables to feed the pigs; Chasing hide-and-seek with childhood friends in the bamboo forest in Houshan; On the road in front of the house, hold high the torch and follow the adults to the movies ... In my eyes, the old house is a big book full of affection and love. Open any page and you will find the warmth of the source of life.

(12) After breakfast, I stood at the door of the old house and chatted with my relatives and friends. The little nephew next door advised me to tear down the old house and build a fashionable "second floor"

(13) I shook my head: no! How did he know that without my old house, my soul could only wander around the world.

1. This article describes the author's experience of visiting this old house. Please extract the sentences in the article and complete the author's whereabouts.

2. Read paragraph (2) carefully and talk about the author's feelings in the description of the old house.

The description in the article is very pitiful. Referring to the example, choose one of the two underlined sentences describing the father AB in paragraph (7) for analysis.

Example: One summer night, grandma put me to bed while enjoying the cool outside. The moon quietly followed me through the window and stroked my face.

Analysis: The word "touch" uses personification to vividly write grandma's love and spiritual comfort to "me" through the moon.

4. The sentence with wavy lines in paragraph (9) is intriguing. How to understand that "Grandma's Song" falls in "My Dream"?

5. What do you think of the author's decision not to tear down the old house at last? Combine the full text and talk to real life.

Answer:

1, standing at the entrance of the village and looking from afar → silently approaching the old house → stepping on the threshold → sitting silently in the main room → wandering inside and outside the old house.

2. It not only contains the intimacy of the author when he returns to his old house, but also contains the author's regret for his old house.

3. Example 1: A. The metaphor of "Spring Swallows Mud" vividly shows my father's painstaking efforts to build a new house, full of longing, and it is really touching to read.

Example 2: B, "pat" and "dot" vividly show the joy and pride of my father after he built the house.

It not only means that grandma still sings nursery rhymes after I fall asleep, but also means that grandma's nursery rhymes and grandma's love are deeply branded in my childhood memory.

Example 1: I think the author's decision is correct. Because the old house is old, it has preserved his childhood memories and warm affection. When he returns to the old house, his soul will have a home. In real life, we need not only good living conditions, but also a spiritual home. For example, when people move or travel far away, they always have a special feeling for their hometown. So the author's decision is understandable.

Ex. 2: I don't think it is appropriate for the author to make such a decision. Although his childhood memories and warm affection are preserved in the old house, which gives his soul a home, indulging in the past will often hinder the progress of life; With the development of the times, it is the trend of social development to demolish old houses and rebuild fashionable new ones. So the old house still needs to be demolished.

Ex. 3: I think the author's decision has his reasons as well as his shortcomings. The reason is that his childhood memories and warm affection are preserved in the old house. When he returns to the old house, his soul will have a home. Inappropriate: people can't always stay in the past. It is the need of the times to tear down the old and build a new one. We should keep pace with the times. (1) In my life, no matter where I live, in my subconscious, only the old house in the country is called home.

(2) My old house is just an ordinary farmhouse built on the mountain, with blue tiles on the earth walls and Chinese fir doors and windows. Several rooms near the west end are still covered with straw, and the mountain wind is blowing, which smells like grass chips and is faint. However, the years have passed away mercilessly. Now, the scale tiles in the old house are covered with moss, the dust on the yellow mud wall falls off, and the two slightly heavy doors are mottled with paint, bursting with deep and shallow cracks, like crow's feet all over the old man's forehead.

(3) The old house is really "old". At sunset, I stood at the entrance of the village and looked into the distance. It seems to sleep soundly, perhaps because it is too tired, sleeping so peacefully and quietly.

(4) I silently approached the old house. In the sunset, the wind is like a bergamot, gently rubbing the vegetation on the roadside, and there is no sound; The bird perched wearily on the tree, sticking out its pointed mouth to comb its feathers and didn't sing. Maybe they are in the same mood as me at the moment-gently touching the dark brown door, but afraid to open it, for fear of disturbing the old house and breaking its dream.

(5) My childhood was in a dream. It was also in this evening that the sun gradually set and my mother's long and short voice called me home floated under the eaves. I, as well as chickens, ducks, cattle and sheep, are going in the same direction-the old house with a light cage for cooking smoke, crushing the sun all the way. I can't help but look up. The smoke on the roof seems to be still there, and the smell of rice seems to be still there, fluttering and falling on my nose. At the moment, I really want to run into the house like I was a child, pick up a delicious rice crust and put it in my mouth, and then listen to my mother scold me as a "greedy cat" ...

(6) The old house is the home of the heart. When I finally lifted my foot into the threshold, a long-lost feeling came to my mind: I really got home.

The old house is my father's painstaking masterpiece. When I was a child, I often heard my father say that he and his family were hoeing and breaking ground under the scorching sun, and stars were flying overhead to transport firewood, bricks and sand until the north wind roared in winter. A is like a bird's nest in spring. After many twists and turns, it finally builds its own nest. B At that time, whenever relatives and friends visited, my father would happily pat the doors and windows, or point to the rafters and beams on the house and praise his house for its durability. One autumn day, a photographer came to this village. My father, who usually doesn't like taking pictures, suddenly changed into his only Chinese tunic suit and took photos with his family in front of the old house. I was repeatedly told to remember that a golden nest is not as good as my own kennel.

(8) After decades, things have changed in a blink of an eye. Grandma and dad went to another world, and my mother and I lived together in the city. It's late at night, and I'm sitting alone in my room, with a lonely lamp and a shadow. The room is empty.

(9) The first quarter moon is thin outside the window. Maybe I have been separated from it for too long, and we are strangers to each other. It just showed half its face and turned to hide in the thin clouds. It suddenly occurred to me that the moon at home didn't seem like this when I was a child. At that time, it followed me wherever I went. One summer night, grandma put me on the bed while I was enjoying the cool outside. The moon quietly followed me through the window and stroked my face. I still remember grandma sitting on the edge of the bed, fanning me and humming nursery rhymes: moonlight, night light, accompanying my dear Lang … I fell asleep in a daze, and grandma's singing continued, like a gentle moon, falling on my pillow and in my dream. Tonight, I can restore all the details with the fragments of my memory, but I can never hear grandma's singing again. Only the carved bed lying in the corner seems to have reached some kind of tacit understanding with me, irrefutably witnessing the family happiness here.

(10) and that night, I couldn't sleep for a long time.

(1 1) The next morning, the sun had just risen, and the warm sunshine was projected on the roof of the old house, dyed into a familiar golden color. I wander around the old house, and every step is like bending down to pick up a childhood memory. On the threshold, my father sat on his knees and talked about the Three Kingdoms with great joy. In the miscellaneous room, the mother sifted the chaff and cut vegetables to feed the pigs; Chasing hide-and-seek with childhood friends in the bamboo forest in Houshan; On the road in front of the house, hold high the torch and follow the adults to the movies ... In my eyes, the old house is a big book full of affection and love. Open any page and you will find the warmth of the source of life.

(12) After breakfast, I stood at the door of the old house and chatted with my relatives and friends. The little nephew next door advised me to tear down the old house and build a fashionable "second floor"

(13) I shook my head: no! How did he know that without my old house, my soul could only wander around the world.

1. This article describes the author's experience of visiting this old house. Please extract the sentences in the article and complete the author's whereabouts.

2. Read paragraph (2) carefully and talk about the author's feelings in the description of the old house.

The description in the article is very pitiful. Referring to the example, choose one of the two underlined sentences describing the father AB in paragraph (7) for analysis.

Example: One summer night, grandma put me to bed while enjoying the cool outside. The moon quietly followed me through the window and stroked my face.

Analysis: The word "touch" uses personification to vividly write grandma's love and spiritual comfort to "me" through the moon.

4. The sentence with wavy lines in paragraph (9) is intriguing. How to understand that "Grandma's Song" falls in "My Dream"?

5. What do you think of the author's final decision not to tear down the old house? Combine the full text and talk to real life.

Answer:

1, standing at the entrance of the village and looking from afar → silently approaching the old house → stepping on the threshold → sitting silently in the main room → wandering inside and outside the old house.

2. It not only contains the intimacy of the author when he returns to his old house, but also contains the author's regret for his old house.

3. Example 1: A. The metaphor of "Spring Swallows Mud" vividly shows my father's painstaking efforts to build a new house, full of longing, and it is really touching to read. (1) In my life, no matter where I live, in my subconscious, only the old house in the country is called home.

(2) My old house is just an ordinary farmhouse built on the mountain, with blue tiles on the earth walls and Chinese fir doors and windows. Several rooms near the west end are still covered with straw, and the mountain wind is blowing, which smells like grass chips and is faint. However, the years have passed away mercilessly. Now, the scale tiles in the old house are covered with moss, the dust on the yellow mud wall falls off, and the two slightly heavy doors are mottled with paint, bursting with deep and shallow cracks, like crow's feet all over the old man's forehead.

(3) The old house is really "old". At sunset, I stood at the entrance of the village and looked into the distance. It seems to sleep soundly, perhaps because it is too tired, sleeping so peacefully and quietly.

(4) I silently approached the old house. In the sunset, the wind is like a bergamot, gently rubbing the vegetation on the roadside, and there is no sound; The bird perched wearily on the tree, sticking out its pointed mouth to comb its feathers and didn't sing. Maybe they are in the same mood as me at the moment-gently touching the dark brown door, but afraid to open it, for fear of disturbing the old house and breaking its dream.

(5) My childhood was in a dream. It was also in this evening that the sun gradually set and my mother's long and short voice called me home floated under the eaves. I, as well as chickens, ducks, cattle and sheep, are going in the same direction-the old house with a light cage for cooking smoke, crushing the sun all the way. I can't help but look up. The smoke on the roof seems to be still there, and the smell of rice seems to be still there, fluttering and falling on my nose. At the moment, I really want to run into the house like I was a child, pick up a delicious rice crust and put it in my mouth, and then listen to my mother scold me as a "greedy cat" ...

(6) The old house is the home of the heart. When I finally lifted my foot into the threshold, a long-lost feeling came to my mind: I really got home.

The old house is my father's painstaking masterpiece. When I was a child, I often heard my father say that he and his family were hoeing and breaking ground under the scorching sun, and stars were flying overhead to transport firewood, bricks and sand until the north wind roared in winter. A is like a bird's nest in spring. After many twists and turns, it finally builds its own nest. B At that time, whenever relatives and friends visited, my father would happily pat the doors and windows, or point to the rafters and beams on the house and praise his house for its durability. One autumn day, a photographer came to this village. My father, who usually doesn't like taking pictures, suddenly changed into his only Chinese tunic suit and took photos with his family in front of the old house. I was repeatedly told to remember that a golden nest is not as good as my own kennel.

(8) After decades, things have changed in a blink of an eye. Grandma and dad went to another world, and my mother and I lived together in the city. It's late at night, and I'm sitting alone in my room, with a lonely lamp and a shadow. The room is empty.

(9) The first quarter moon is thin outside the window. Maybe I have been separated from it for too long, and we are strangers to each other. It just showed half its face and turned to hide in the thin clouds. It suddenly occurred to me that the moon at home didn't seem like this when I was a child. At that time, it followed me wherever I went. Come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come, come. Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on.