记忆中的小溪和稻乡

                 作者/陈有兵

一条小溪，犹如女性柔美的身体曲线，从稻田的腰部轻轻地飘过。它迈着轻盈的脚步，哼着醉人的歌曲。水面上粉红的桃花，使小溪染上了风流的桃花运。小溪是跳动的脉搏，它记载了稻乡的阴晴圆缺。小溪也是一面镜子，乡下人的生活倒影，在水中显得清清楚楚。一群鲫鱼在一朵朵白云和柔顺的水草中，自由自在地游来晃去。小溪，是我人生中最美的遇见。古风古韵的小桥流水旁，没有枯藤没有昏鸦，只有一株银杏树和青瓦小楼。屋前的月季花，在绿波荡漾的秧苗上摇曳，红与绿的和谐达配，惊艳了这户小桥流水人家。站在小溪里石头上饮水的鸟儿，成了一幅鲜活的水墨画。窗户中那张桃花般的脸，嫣然一笑的酒窝里，畜满了比酒还浓的情。有个夏夜，我们披一身清风，坐在小桥边的亭子里，看流萤拖出无数条柔软的蓝线。长大后我们把分别留在了长亭里。

      故乡，始终是一种情怀。游览过无数的景区后，发现故乡的一草一木，才是心中最美的风景。一个人在乡间小路上走走，吹吹风，听听鸟声，这是我最放松的时候。

这儿没有高楼林立，没有纸迷金迷，只有粗茶淡饭寻常烟火。在这儿，嘹亮的蝉声让我找到了夏天的午后，蛙声让我回到了绿意葱郁的稻乡，虫呜让我找到了夜晚的宁静。在这儿，生命的质量仿佛得到了提升。

       夏天一到，房前屋后的玉米地绿了，南瓜花黄了。菜园里的瓜果蔬菜生机盎然。寻一处树荫，觅一处清幽，享受一份安然和恬适。五月的野花开满了溪边的草滩，亮晶晶的露珠把小草的头压得很低很低。在淡烟薄雾下，一望无际的绿茵茵的秧苗，在微风中缓缓流淌。一行白鹭在晚霞中飞翔！飞翔！黑色的剪影变成了一串省略号。晚风中、从稻禾上滑落的水珠，在水田里发出沙沙的清响，它是故乡最美的天籁。我放空的心灵从来没有这种感觉和安静过。进入九月，门前的银杏和稻田，抹上了一层淡淡的黄，故乡便有了秋天的模样。

       秋风习习，落叶轻舞。秋水潺潺的小溪，是我一生中最清澈的记忆。在桥下洗衣服的姑娘，用手掬起一捧水向我洒来的镜头，至少还在我梦中回放。待我解决了生计，待我了无牵挂时，回到故乡，跳进小溪里洗净铅华，与清风明月对话，聆听时光的细语。去寻找灵魂的渡口，在那儿平心静气地渡情，渡心，渡时光。给自己一份从容，给心一份安宁。

             2024.  7.  29

The Brook and the Rice Field in Memory

Writer and Poet / Chen Youbing

A brook, like the soft and beautiful body curve of a woman, gently drifts by the waist of the rice field. It walks with light steps and hums intoxicating songs. The pink peach blossoms on the water surface give the brook a romantic touch. The brook is the beating pulse that records the joys and sorrows of the rice field. It is also a mirror where the reflections of rural people's lives are clearly visible in the water. A group of crucian carps swim freely among the white clouds and supple aquatic plants. The brook is the most beautiful encounter in my life. Beside the ancient and charming small bridge and flowing water, there are no withered vines or crows, only a ginkgo tree and a small building with blue tiles. The rose flowers in front of the house sway on the rippling green seedlings. The harmonious combination of red and green amazes this family beside the small bridge and flowing water. The birds drinking water on the stones in the brook have become a vivid ink-wash painting. The face like a peach blossom in the window, in the dimples of a sweet smile, stores affection thicker than wine. One summer night, we wore a breeze and sat in the pavilion beside the small bridge, watching the fireflies dragging countless soft blue lines. When we grew up, we left our parting at the long pavilion.

Hometown is always a kind of sentiment. After visiting countless scenic spots, I found that every plant and tree in my hometown is the most beautiful scenery in my heart. It is the most relaxing time for me to take a walk alone on the country road, enjoy the breeze and listen to the birdsong. 

There are no towering buildings here, no extravagance and dissipation, only simple food and ordinary fireworks. Here, the loud chirping of cicadas leads me to the summer afternoons, the croaking of frogs takes me back to the green and lush rice countryside, and the chirping of insects helps me find the tranquility of the night. Here, it seems that the quality of life has been enhanced.

When summer arrives, the cornfields around the houses turn green, and the pumpkin flowers turn yellow. The fruits and vegetables in the vegetable garden are full of vitality. Find a shade, seek a secluded place, and enjoy a sense of peace and comfort. In May, wild flowers bloom all over the grassland by the stream, and the shiny dewdrops press the grass heads very low. Under the light smoke and mist, the endless green seedlings flow slowly in the breeze. A line of egrets fly in the sunset glow! Fly! The black silhouettes turn into a string of ellipses. In the evening breeze, the water droplets slipping from the rice plants make a rustling sound in the paddy field. It is the most beautiful sound of nature in my hometown. My empty mind has never felt this kind of feeling and peace before. Entering September, the ginkgo trees and rice fields in front of the door are smeared with a light shade of yellow, and my hometown takes on the look of autumn. 

​The autumn wind is gentle and the fallen leaves are dancing lightly. The murmuring brook in autumn is the clearest memory in my life. The scene of the girl washing clothes under the bridge scooping up a handful of water and splashing it at me still replays in my dream at least. When I solve my livelihood problem and have no more worries, I will return to my hometown, jump into the brook to wash off the glitz, talk with the gentle breeze and the bright moon, and listen to the whispers of time. To look for the ferry crossing of the soul, and ferry feelings, the heart and time calmly there. Give myself a composure and give my heart a peace.

July 29th, 2024 ​