Introduction

This autumn, I went to Scarborough Market. This personal walk is not the first time for me. Now, I am once again withdrawing from the turbulent life. Or maybe I have an element of loneliness in myself, and I always thought that they would disappear as I grow older, but I found that loneliness is actually a chronic poison, and more and more of it will accumulate in my body if I drink it. ?

I believe that these open and noisy markets are not poetic, but why do I miss them? Clothes that are uniformly cheap cannot be upscale.

Vegetables, which are always gray and gray, cannot be separated from life. If you see them every day, you will never regret meeting them too late. There are also those local products that cannot be unearthed in any granary, so there may not be a feeling of sympathy for each other.

However, these things, after being sifted through the hourglass of time, they become an ancient painting, such as the "Along the River During the Qingming Festival", which gives birth to a layer of green and fragrant colors. Dark exhaustion comes.

I think those little bags containing food must have magic, right? Or it could be the bronze faces sitting behind them. With the power of nature, they once planted the fullest seeds into the soil, then looked forward to rain, and then hoped for harvest; all their work all year round It's all for that bag of grain. When those fruits are glowing in the granary, they can't help but stretch out their rough hands to pick them up, put them under their noses and smell them, and the fragrance enters their hearts. The fatigue will fade away, and then a kind of joy will fill the heart. This is satisfaction, a happy heart and a full interest in life.

Among these grains, I say wheat has the healthiest skin color. Rice has the most graceful figure. Corn is the most magnificent. Soybeans are the most adorable. Millet, yellow-orange, has the best color.

I would like to write more for red beans. The poet said that red beans in the south are the most lovesick, but he never asked the person who picked the red beans if the bag was full? In fact, there are red beans in the North, but they are not under the eyes of the poet, so I don’t know whether they are lovesick or not. It is said that lovesickness is the most painful. This pain should be vast, profound, harsh, lasting, and impossible to pour out.

My second cousin and I went to the small town market during a summer vacation. When facing the past, I always have a strange feeling. Why do all my memory pictures appear under the dim background? Actually, it was a cloudless day with blue sky. But when I think of the market I walked through, I carry a dark yellow foundation. It seems that the days have been buried for thousands of years. Once dug up, it will be dilapidated. When the wind blows, everything can no longer withstand the care.

The market spans a river and spreads out under the bridge, as if it is being carried by a person on one shoulder and can be picked up at any time. Maybe I am the one who started this market all the way, and I never put it down. The bridge was a stone bridge, and farmers with indifferent expressions were sitting on both sides of the bridge. They watched us walk slowly past and back again. When we came back, we each had two more tomatoes in our hands. They looked at us walking over, and they must have been disappointed.

At that time, the second cousin was tall, handsome, handsome, with deep eye sockets and deep eyes, so he was always fascinated by the plump and arrogant girl, especially when the second cousin came to Murakami to set up a stall. She would stand far away under the tree while taking pictures, and follow her second cousin wherever he set up his stall.

I am the exact opposite of my second cousin. I am short, thin, and ugly. When we meet again after many years, the second cousin is still like this, with deep eye sockets and deep eyes, but all the vitality of the past has been lost, his face is covered with frost, and his temperament is a little more depressed. It seems that the past days have been unbearable. However, after so many years, I always think of walking in that market with my second cousin.

That summer, I was waiting for the results of the college entrance examination and felt uneasy. So my second cousin invited me to go to my eldest cousin’s house. My eldest cousin and my eldest cousin’s sister-in-law were at work, so we went all the way to the market. It was boring to walk around. Really, many markets were bustling with people. This market was sparsely populated and there were few transactions, perhaps because of the busy farming season.

However, does anyone know that this is a bridge in "Along the River During the Qingming Festival". This picture was written by Zhang Zerui from the Song Dynasty. This man with profound painting skills may have predicted that I would meander from this bridge. Let's go, so there is a woman in white in the painting, so where is the second cousin? Where is he?

There is one thing that I will never be able to confirm. When I was young, my grandfather took me to the market. At first, my grandfather took me to wander among the strange crowds, but I couldn't find him in the blink of an eye.

At that time, in this bustling crowd, how did I lift my little head and try to look at the people passing me with a pair of doubtful eyes? At that time, my little heart It must have been full of panic. Later, when my mother talked about it with a smile, I realized that it was actually my grandfather’s intention. He wanted to see my first reaction when I couldn't find my relatives, right?

To this day, I don’t know what my grandfather would want me to do or what he wouldn’t want me to do. Everyone who knew about it is gone now, but I am still here.

And there are fewer and fewer relatives around me. What do those strange faces I see in the crowd have to do with me? One day, when I get lost, when I encounter heavy rain, when I get lost alone in the market, who will pay attention to me from a distance in the dense crowd to see how I face the setbacks in front of me? Will there still be relatives who come out of that hiding place when I am extremely anxious and make me burst into laughter?

So this autumn, I went to the market in Scarborough. This personal walk is not the first time for me. Now, I am once again withdrawing from the turbulent life. Or maybe I have an element of loneliness myself, and I always thought they would disappear as I grow older, but I discovered that loneliness is actually a chronic poison that accumulates more and more in my body as I drink it.

Walking in the market, I rarely spoke. I prefer to see through some details of life on a pile of fragrant fruits. My mother sold her jewelry at the market and her last wedding dress in exchange for the things necessary for life; at that time, she must have been extremely depressed.