1. The smell of home is the hands of the sick wife, and the warmth of the faint tobacco smell coming from the husband's palms. The smell of home is the wife silently refilling the cup with hot water for her husband in front of the computer. The smell of home is the children quietly getting up early to buy breakfast. The smell of home is your bare feet walking on the floor. The smell of home is your unwashed face and uncombed hair after you wake up after sleeping in. The smell of home is the mess on the table after relatives and friends get together. The taste of home is tranquility in the morning and leisurely sorrow in the evening. The taste of home is that there are hundreds of flowers in spring and looking at the moon in autumn, and there is a cool breeze in summer and listening to the snow in winter.
2. The moon is like amber, clear and bright, covered with dim light, and the floating clouds are as delicate as running water, like light mountain mist. The moon sits on the tall rooftops of the city, sighing secretly with its back to the prosperity. It leans on the tall grain stacks in the countryside, stirring up the dim nostalgia in the candlelight. It hangs heavily in front of my lonely little window, disturbing the dryness. The aroma of wine. Wherever the moon goes, it carries with it the broken willows of the family door, the scorched years in the father's tobacco bag, and the mother's instructions as dense as needles. With a person's beginning and destination, joy and frustration.
3. It is a hint of sourness and sweetness in the heart, silently eroded in the marshmallows of childhood. It is the fragrance of Chun Chun wine that has been sealed for many years, silently wafting away into the distant future. , it is a little sadness of enjoying exclusive joy, quietly growing into hatred of separation and drifting away, it is a lingering sorrow between the eyebrows, quietly watching the other side of the homesickness river, it is the taste of home, lingering In the teeth and on the tip of the tongue, it spreads throughout the lungs and blood vessels, and dances freely in the body of the wanderer. I keep moving forward just for deeper longing, just for the harbor when tiredness returns, just for the warmth when I can't bear the cold, and the taste of home. In my heart, I soothe my uneasiness in the sleepless night.
4. The feeling of leaving my hometown after a long time is not shallow, and I am also homesick this evening. In the afternoon of autumn, I searched for old songs with a feeling of nostalgia, and listened to the song "I Want to Have a Family" which brought my thoughts back to my childhood memories. In those young years, this song was so resonant in my heart that even now, when I hear the accent, I still feel like a clear spring, suddenly emerging from the depths of my heart, all the way. The rush of energy surged up to my limbs and hundreds of veins, and to my eye sockets.
5. Home is the foundation of people, the foundation of emotions, the support in the storm, the fire in the cold winter night, the warmth and feelings of dreams at night, and the window when it rains in Bashan. The shadow of a candle flickering in front of me. Home is not an external form, it is not the magnificence of high-rise buildings, it is not the simplicity and elegance of exquisite small buildings, nor is it the simplicity of three humble houses, those with feasting and feasting, those with ice, blue and purple, those with indifference and loneliness. , those who invite wealth and luxury, are not home.
6. Home is the starting point of our lives and a haven for our growth. The smell of home does not necessarily have the fragrance of roses, nor does it necessarily have the fragrance of lilies. The smell of home is like the sunshine on my father's body, dazzling and warm. The smell of home is like the moonlight smell of my mother, bright and soft. The smell of home is like the star-like smell of a child, naughty and lazy.