The specific original text is as follows
Country, dirt, is the last hometown of childhood, and also the last hometown of crickets. Without soil, there would be no leeks and beans, and there would be no mountain village scene of "hoes under the south mountain, grass full of beans"
Without soil, there would be no grass buds, no dew, no pastoral smoke. On the way home, how did I get the childhood memories of "the West Building stained my clothes"?
Most importantly, without soil, there would be no insects, and there would be no crickets in the sunset. This is the loneliness of the soil, the loneliness of the countryside, the loneliness of farmers, and the loneliness of wanderers coming out of the countryside.
The countryside is inseparable from the cricket's chirping!
Crickets are the most beautiful dusk scene in the countryside.
When I was a child, I went to pull the pig grass, walked on the ridge of the field, or walked on the country road. At this time, the dusk is four, the smoke rises, and a thin layer of fog is floating in the field. Nearby, in the distance, there were insects singing, hissing, hissing, thick and light; There are straight and straight, not beating around the bush; There are also twists and turns, ups and downs, twists and turns. In the distance, it is the voice of my mother calling home, which sounds far away in the village.
In a blink of an eye, when people are over forty, I will be far away from home.
However, the chirping of crickets still rings in dreams all the time, which makes people want to go back to their hometown and childhood.
Hours, an article entitled "Clearly Going to School" appeared. More than 30 years later, the contents of the book are still clearly remembered: a student named Xiao Ming went to school in the morning, heard the chirping of crickets in the grass, and was busy looking for it, but rummaged through the grass and found nothing. At this time, classmate Xiaowen shouted, "Xiaoming, if you don't hurry up, you will be late." Xiao Ming listened and went to school with Xiao Wen at once. Just sitting in the seat, the bell rang and the teacher came into the classroom. The two men smiled at each other.
Almost every rural student has had this experience. That kind of experience, now that I think about it, is so warm and sweet that it makes people cry.
Insects sing in the wild, in the grass, in textbooks and in childhood. Crickets are indispensable in this insect song.
The poem says: "July is in the wild, August is in the house, September is in the house, and October crickets enter my bed." This is common in rural areas, but urban residents may not understand it. The countryside is a mud world. Crickets are insects born in the soil. In the wild, they bark under the steps. After October, it was cold. Along the crack in the wall, the spiritual insect entered the room and fell asleep. Woke up in the middle of the night, crickets chirped under the bed, clear as dew. Lying alone in bed is like lying on clear dew.
Crickets sing, all white.
At this time, the heart is also white.
In front of the bed is a pure white moonlight, like water, shining on a clearing.
My hometown is deep in the mountains.
Grass is dense in the mountains, crickets are chirping one after another on the roads, on the ridges of fields and even in the yard. When I was a child, the chirping of crickets was the most indispensable scenery, whether in the morning or at dusk.
Comparatively speaking, the crickets' calls are denser and more urgent at dusk than in the morning. When I get up in the morning, the wind is very cold, and the crickets' calls are scattered, as if they were stuck with dew, and some of them can't vibrate.
We don't usually catch crickets at this time. Why? It is uncomfortable to walk into the grass and get wet with dew.
Crickets rest at noon in the morning and don't bark.
At dusk, under the setting sun, crickets seem to have accumulated enough strength to scream desperately under the grass, in the slate and even by the river. Barking along the river, isn't this bug afraid of getting wet? I always worry foolishly.
This time is also the happiest time for us.
After school in the afternoon, we walked home with our schoolbags on our backs. It's getting dark, but it's not dark yet. The whole sky is blue, and there is a little protein in the blue. The sky in the west is bright, like a layer of transparent porcelain with red glaze. In the air, you can clearly see the wires, crossing between telephone poles. Bats swished around in the air, and their voices were crisp.
The adults said that when they saw a bat, they threw a shoe into the air and the bat got in. So, we threw our shoes and sang a song taught by our mother: "Come on, bat, get into my cloth shoes." Cloth shoes have no soles. I will give you rice. Cloth shoes are useless, so I'll give you chaff ... "However, bats are always flying, never fooled, and never get into shoes."
Some children's shoes were accidentally thrown into the water and cried with a "wow".
But more often, we catch crickets.
The countryside at dusk is a paradise for crickets. Especially when it's getting dark, crickets sing like rain. It really rained. East sound, west sound, long sound, short sound, closely intertwined into a sound network, flowing in the village sky in the evening. Some calls were clearly visible in the grass around us, but when we crept closer, these insects suddenly stopped. Then, in front of us, there was another insect sound. Once again, we walked lightly, hunched our backs and approached for fear of being found by crickets, but the crickets found it and stopped at once. Not far away, crickets began to call again.
We are catching crickets, and crickets are teasing us.
As a result, we didn't catch anything, but we were very happy, happy for no reason, full of childhood hearts. To this day, I am happy to think of these for no reason.
Listening to the sound of cricket, even if you don't walk in the field, sitting in the field by the well of the platform is also a kind of enjoyment. Jiang Kui, a poet in the Song Dynasty, said in Cricket in Qi Tianle: "Exposing a copper shop and invading a moss stone well are all things I have heard.". This is very poetic.
Listening to the crickets chirping under the west window is more poetic.
On Sunday, a person, a book, sat alone under the window, reading silently. At this time, the window is full of short-term insects, through the window screen, into the window, into the reader's ear, for a time, people are amazed, not the insects in the book, but the insects outside the window; I don't know if it's a bug in my heart or a bug in my ear.
Some people say that listening to the sound of dew will brighten your heart.
In fact, listening to the chirping of crickets will definitely brighten your heart.
I have been in town for ten years. One day, a pot of wild chrysanthemum was put in the study, like a drum, and the wild chrysanthemum was like a little spark, which brought a trace of elegance and wildness to the study. I was attracted by the sound of insects when I was enjoying the flowers. It's the voice of cricket, clear and bright, long and soft, which suddenly brings a rural field charm to a study, a Shan Ye flavor of "picking chrysanthemums under the south mountain".
This cricket was accidentally brought back by his wife when she was retrieving the soil for planting flowers in the field.
After teaching and writing every day, there will be a few crickets in my ears. Listening to the chirping of cricket, people feel like walking back to their hometown, walking on a country road and walking on the bank of a ridge stream in a small village.
Planting flowers can entertain your eyes.
Raising grass can refresh you.
Raising a cricket will bring moisture and cleanliness to a tired heart.