Tea rain slightly cool

is a yellow plum day, outside the drizzle, tea on the case, tea and chatting people just left, white porcelain tealight, dense several jasmine, tea rain slightly cool.

Rainy days, find a few people sitting, tile eaves with the sound of water, a few people sitting in the house, while drinking, while listening to the rain, expectant talk, whistling song, forget about fame and fortune.

Yu Er is the kind of friend who doesn't want to be invited to a meeting. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get a good deal on this, but I'm sure you're going to be able to. A city, he lived in the north gate, I live in the south gate. Once, on a rainy day, I asked him to come over to sit down, he wore a blue poncho, clattering in the wind, riding a broken car, came swinging. Halfway, the car punctured the tire, Yu Er, "uttering, uttering", pushing the car, walking 10 miles, through the city, but also brought a packet of north of the city, "small Lachun" of pork.

Of course, I thought of Chen Boss, who writes poetry. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to find the right place to get your hands on the right thing," he said. I'm not sure if you're kidding," he said. Boss Chen laughed out loud and said, "You're a writer, you have no sense of humor, where there are apricot blossoms, there are apricot blossom villages, right? That day, I followed the Chen boss, not riding a donkey, but a car, walked sixty or seventy miles, almost to the neighboring county of Wang Zengqi's hometown, ate than Wang Zengqi pen is still small small Cigu, small Cigu stewed black pork.

One evening, I called Zhang Dazhi, he said excitedly on the other end of the phone, I'm on the boat miles, accompanied by a friend to Chongqing delivery, after the Yangtze River Three Gorges, is Wanzhou. I saw, a man, full of smiles, and stood on the deck, his head is full of stars, behind the lights, slowly moving the sky contour line.

Zhang Dazhi is a boss, he is always busy, leaving a whole lot of things in the factory regardless of the company delivery. That person driving, afraid of dozing off, want to find someone to talk and chat, Zhang Daqi did not say anything, with his baby camera, climbed into the big truck.

Looking for someone to sit idly, tea and rain slightly cool. At this time, there is no rush, you can not hear the marginal bragging, and there is no vanity this dish.

One year, by the Fuchun River, I was chatting with Mr. Chen about the story of Prince Yu's snowy night visit.

The place where we sit is not very big, there is a small room, private, five or six square feet, four or five people sitting around, on the table of crude fiber food bubbling hot steam. Chen boss recited a poet's lines: men are born to be the protagonist of the tavern, many things, half of them are done here. All kinds of people want to get into the world, full of ambition, want to get ahead.

The tavern, is a place where you can talk, there is a world of cold and warmth, emotional convergence, diffuse the softest nostalgia. That day, just back from the delivery of Zhang Dazhi mixed feelings: "When I was a child, my family was poor, often hungry to go to school, to the classmate's home, see the door drying dried radish, sneak a few pieces into the mouth, dried radish is too salty, scooping the cool water in the tank to drink, I really miss the old days."

Warm rainy days, Kong Shangren wrote "Peach Blossom Fan", Tang Xianzu wrote "Peony Pavilion", Shen Sanbai wrote "Six Memoirs of a Floating Life" ...... "Peach Blossom Fan" sang this: "You remember across the green stream half a mile of the bridge, the old red boards did not have one. Autumn water long days people over less, cold and clear falling light, left a tree willow bending." Rain, hitting the grain, a flower-like splash, exudes the ancient rich fragrance, moistening the words of the literati, but also their hearts, blotting out the smoke and mist.

Looking for someone to sit idly, this feeling is not a person I have. In that water vapor dense Song Dynasty, the poet Zhao Shixiu about friends sitting idle, "yellow plum season rain, grassy ponds everywhere frogs. There is not about to come over the night half, idle knocking chess fell lamps." Plum ripe, ordinary people, pink walls and tiles, reflected in the faint indistinct ink and rain, grassy pond, came from near and far high and low frogs. Already about the guests, said to come but how not yet come? The time has passed midnight, Uncle Zhao hand holding the chess piece gently knocking on the table, waiting for the guests, only to see the wick of the child, after a while, fell a cut ......

The evening of the fine rainfall, the trees have birds chirping, and the air flowed with the fragrance of flowers. A person to go home, halfway if someone shouted at me, I will not excuse myself. At this time, someone shouts at you, it means that this person is still thinking about you.

Nostalgia in the yard

I have always felt that I used to live in a yard. It was a small yard with a few bushes of bananas in the corner of the door, and the leaves were sparse. I'm not sure if you're going to be able to get a good deal on a new one, but I'm sure you're going to be able to get a good deal on a new one.

Once upon a time, I lived in a small town with many old yards. The old houses were inhabited by former neighbors, often with a well, and osmanthus, loquat trees, there is a person sitting under the tree, not too slow to drink. At that time, I lived next to a street, I could see the peddlers, shadows; red dust rolling, the sound of the city.

A private space, with a strong sense of seclusion, easily makes people think of the word "seclusion". Therefore, the courtyard in Jiangnan, gathering moisture, moss, beautiful flowers. From an architectural and aesthetic point of view, it is more suitable for a person to live in peace and quiet. Or, a young man with his hair on his head, reading without distraction. The houses along the road, on the other hand, with their open windows and doors, and the wind pouring in and out, are suitable for breaking through the walls to open a store and run a business.

They're not the only ones.

Live in the yard, fenced against the temptations outside. Most of the people who pace out of the yard are emaciated, a thin man. Like one night, I was reading Zheng Banqiao's "Dianshi Figure", suddenly remembered many years ago, went to the small courtyard of the former residence, and then look at his portrait, only to realize that Zheng Banqiao was a thin man.

Four times between the grass and trees, there are flowers and snow, standing in the courtyard, you can recite a poem, interpretation of a person, the youth of the madness. One day, I was very naive and said to my friend, if I can go back to young, I want to rent a yard to fall in love, I want to plant five trees, peach, plum, apricot, jujube, persimmon tree, in different seasons, eat different fruits, enjoy different flowers.

A lot of beautiful love in this world happens in the courtyard, and then spreads and develops from the courtyard wall. Just like Lu You and Tang Wan met in the Shen Garden, of course, is the spring Jiangnan, a large courtyard with deep grass and trees. At that time, the leaf color is thick, the pool water is clear, the air is sweet. If there is no brick fence around, a moving and poignant story, there is one less box to hold. There was also an ancient scholar, a master of WeChat, who wrote his love letters on leaves and sent his cleanest sentiments to each other through a clear stream outside the courtyard wall. Those courting confessions, through the wall.

After all, it is the place where the quiet life prevails, what people have lived, what has been said, what has happened, there is no way for people outside to know. Suzhou Canglang Pavilion near a small courtyard, lived Shen Sanbai and Yuniang, "Six Records of a Floating Life" moody text, inadvertently, revealed the secrets of the courtyard.

The courtyard has a subtle, beautiful mood. In the fall, I lie in bed and think, the falling leaves in the patio, will it be blown away by a gust of wind, like on the thoroughfare, and become a long time ago? The leaves in the yard, probably only hovering in the patio, just like a person's heart with great joy, or great sadness, hovering.

Each of the old yard, have its expression. Some yards have been decadent and deserted, the descendants of the house, for the sake of fame and fortune outside.

In the ancient village, I saw a hidden wooden door, between the two pages of the door, leaving a wide gap. People standing outside the door, looking through the doorway, the courtyard mossy, has been uninhabited for some time.

In the past, Huizhou people, the newly built courtyard installed door is asymmetrical. Half wide, half narrow, leaving gaps, to be the future of the children and grandchildren, and then the half door to fill in. The family in front of me, until the last old man left, the door is so hidden, far away from the traveler has not been home.

The courtyard in Beijing, lively, noisy; northwest of the Qiao family compound, high, open; "Dream of the Red Chamber" in the Xiaoxiang Museum, Yihongyuan, elegant, luxurious.

I like the Jiangnan low-key, introverted civilian small family compound, the ridge of a sparse and dense fish scale tiles. The old courtyard with peeling brick veneer, there are some dazzling grass, some humidity, but the grass is dense, compact space.

I want to find an old yard, like when I was a child, climbed over the high wall, looked up and saw a yard full of melting spring, I rode in the corner of the yard wall on a mulberry tree, eat red ripe sweet and sour mulberry fruit.

The small yard that has never lived, is the nostalgia of a middle-aged man.

The old stove on the melancholy guest

From the countryside down to the city for many years old residence, want to eat a mouthful of old stove stewed dry pickles braised pork. The old man drank too much wine, and his mouth was weak, and he wanted to eat the old flavor of the pork. Once, in a big hotel, the old residence as dreamy, asked the waiter, there is no mixed twigs burned pork, said the face of the people are confused. I've seen the old man eat braised pork, croaking, like an old sow arching for food, throat bones turned.

Cooking rice porridge with firewood, rice porridge with resin and grass and wood fragrance, is rising smoke and fire breath, soaked into the rice. Under the stove kettle, crackling, the fluffy jumping flames licked the bottom of the pot, bright and dark.

The firewood, piled up in front of the village people behind the house. I watched the sunrise in the ancient village near Mount Huangshan, standing halfway up the mountainside at dawn. At this time, the village morning light, pink walls and tiles, smoke curls, each floating under the chimneys as thin as swimmers, there is a bowed waist, head down, with firewood to do the morning meal of Huizhou women.

The old stove, hidden in the old days. Built with earth bricks and plastered with yellow mud and lime, it cooks all year round, for the whole family, simple and happy, easy to satisfy the coarse vegetables and grains.

In the past few years, although the city has also opened a number of small restaurants in the name of the old stove. Old residence said he never went to those places, those restaurants, only form, no soul, it may just fall into a trademark.

Kitchen, Ding Ding Ding, hanging sausage, pickled fish, wind chicken, pig's trotters ...... old stovetop flavor how authentic ah.

Wheatgrass rice, roll a grass handle, added to the stove, hay fire, flame roll, stove along the pot cover, puffing; straw porridge, firewood extinguished, a star like beans. Water vapor, "grunt, grunt", porridge flower ripples.

The old stove is a place where people feel warm in winter. The first desires of life are from the stove. There were two long and big sweet potatoes once, and the sweet potatoes baked in the ashes of the old stove were full of fragrance.

The old residence remembers that in the old home with cotton stalks fried leeks of that noisy atmosphere, the first knife leeks cut into inch segments, the pot set on the fire, pour leeks, "snort, snort", firewood instantly extinguished, the pot of residual heat, a vein of transmission, the countryside earth house, filled with wood leeks fragrance.

A person who likes to walk down a road and look back from time to time, with frost on his temples, will have despondency in his heart. The old residence often dream, dreaming of childhood to pick up leaves, with branches in the stovetop iron pot to burn rice, burn out the fragrant rice. The old residence said, wait until after retirement, want to rent a vacant lot, with three stones, arranged in a triangle, set up a small iron pot, hold a large bundle of miscellaneous branches for fuel, panning rice cooking.

"Cow dung porridge", porridge cooked with dry cow dung, has a special fragrance. Wet cow dung, a stall stall dumped on the wall, cow dung dry, shoveled down as firewood, cooking porridge. Cows eat grass, so dry cow dung can be used as firewood. Once, the old residence told me a joke, said a city in-laws, to the countryside as a guest, he only know cow dung porridge is delicious, do not know what is cow dung porridge? When he cooked the porridge, he broke a small piece of dried cow dung and put it into the porridge, thinking that he could cook a pot of good porridge with "gurgling", but he didn't know that it was made of dried cow dung as firewood and burned it. The old man told the story, and he laughed out loud first.

I also miss the old stove under the firewood, firewood, the flame, four leaping run, a cluster of flowers bloom. In the Qing Dynasty's "Tuning Ding Collection", it is said that food is cooked with different kinds of firewood, and the flavor is different when the firewood is different.

Think of me in the countryside, sitting under the stove, one hand pulling the bellows, one hand to add firewood to the pot, add corn stalks, cotton stalks, miscellaneous branches, reed stalks to make the stove full of crackling. At that time, I said to my cousin who was standing on the stovetop frying vegetables, the fire is still strong enough, right? I'm hungry, my mouth is dry, can we have a bowl of ah?

When people reach a certain age, they become sentimental. This year's Spring Festival, I want to go to the countryside to spend the New Year's Eve in the home of relatives, the old stove on the spoon dance shovel, make all the strength, chopping wood to cook.

Perhaps, we are just a passer-by next to the old stove, the stove is just a symbol. The old stove on the melancholy guest, the heart of the wet fog and misty vapor; mouth has the old taste of the past, like a cow as regurgitation; full of eyes is swimming across the sky, curling up the rising smoke.

Warm and wonderful things

Wormy night, turning Zhang Dai "night boat", there is "Guo Lin Zong friends to the night, in the rain to cut leeks for cooking cakes". Night rain cut spring leeks, a few strokes, the relationship between the two people, close and distant, the account presented like a tiger watermelon, clear lines.

Some things, think of warm and wonderful.

On rainy days, people come home, and there is nothing good to entertain, it is thought that there is a border behind the house, spring leeks in the rain, the growth of people, they will hold an umbrella, or wear a hat, darkness, cut a green leeks, leek pancakes.

Cut leeks, dew crystal. Branding leek cakes, leeks inch by inch finely chopped, batter mixed with green powder, with wood and iron pot to branding, the pot is not hot, the cake does not stick, the hut soon leeks overflowing fragrance. Window lights and shadows, reflecting the two people, this time does not necessarily need wine, the guest as the host. Their feelings, like rain and leaves as close.

Some things, think of itself is warm and wonderful.

A pair of old tables and chairs left by the ancestors, the pulp is quiet. Throughout the year, rubbing and wiping, bowls and plates bumping, soup and water spillage. Winter cold hard, summer absorption sweating. Plate bun woman, hanging whisk small child, aged old man ...... above sat what people have thought about the mind? What things have been placed?

When I was a child, I heard my grandmother say that once upon a time life was simple and barren. One day, there is a pro-wei door, Grandma tank no rice, rushed to the neighbor's house to borrow. Grandma borrowed three pounds of rice, the guests did not know, Grandma concealed the guests to borrow rice, but also swollen face pretend fat, smiling to the guests said, lack of money, lack of coal, do not have to worry about, what is the matter, despite mentioning.

When I was 15 or 16 years old, I went to the countryside to visit my relatives. Live in a village, walk to a family, the owner saw a guest at the door, quite surprised, busy, do not know what to take the hospitality is good, is rubbing his hands, hesitation, suddenly saw a pear tree outside the house, tired pears bending tree branches. Autumn is the time when the pear tree fruits, the master is overjoyed, hurry straight to the door, hold back a large handful of pears.

The pear tree is outside the door, spring flowers, white fragrance; fall results, quiet and silent. I'd like to pick a pear, and I can reach it, but sometimes the owner forgets about the existence of the tree.

I came by boat from a small town 100 miles away, first live in Dongzhuang, a relative inquired about the news, walking 15 miles, from the West Village to Dongzhuang, pick me up to his home. At lunch, sitting and chatting, the relative said, children come all the way from the countryside, there is nothing to eat. Talking, suddenly patted his thigh, said, remember, Gu Yu in the east end of the river on the other side of the ground, pointing a few melon seeds, I do not know whether the knot? Relatives put a pile of rice bowl, went to that piece of land, tumbling half a day, picked back two skinny melon.

In fact, in my opinion, the countryside melon, the most suitable for painting. Melon color warm turquoise, melon has a clear fragrance, melon lines clear, the "Compendium of Materia Medica" said, "two, March planted, extension of the vine and born, the leaf is a few inches large, five, June flowers bloom yellow, six, July melon ripe."

Wet and beautiful things, mostly related to the context. For example, apricot blossom spring rain, cool breeze and good moon, sitting against a window and drinking, two or three close friends walking in company. Sometimes, people on the road, but also meet a couple of people who do not know each other.

I went to the mountains to see the lake, living in the county. Wake up in the morning, push the window, see the opposite upstairs balcony, standing a woman, combing her hair in the morning breeze, the lake is not far behind the faint breath, people in the scenery.

In the small town of Jiangnan to find tea, encounter rain. See those tea sellers, not slow, sitting in the half bright half dark store, immersed in the tea fragrance lights and shadows, the streets are narrow, the lights can be kissed.

The Republic of China girl Zhang Chunhe's "small garden", there is a childhood anecdote, small Chunhe is still in infancy, was succeeded to his uncle's grandmother, Li Zhixiu. Sense of cultivation is Li Hongzhang's own niece, from childhood to give the softest affectionate love. Zhang Chonghe childhood, the concept of mother is vague, living with her uncle and grandmother, she even thought that "I was born of my grandmother", childish words, wet and lovely.

I had a similar experience when I was a child, thinking that I was picked up from a fishing boat and that my brother was born to my aunt in the countryside. At that time, the aunt often from the countryside down, a stay is ten days, half a month, aunt often coaxed his brother to sleep, handmade small clothes. I used to grab milk with my brother. The milk at that time was so fragrant, mellow and rich, much better than the milk now, which was the milk of the 1970s.

The simple things are from the past. Some things, after many years, when I think of them, I feel warm and wonderful.

Wang Taisheng

Member of the Jiangsu Provincial Writers' Association, his works have appeared in more than a hundred newspapers and magazines, such as Prose, Yuhua Literary News, People's Daily, and Yangcheng Evening News, etc. Many of his writings have been reprinted in Reader, Youth Digest, etc., and have been selected as the best of the year's domestic anthologies, and have been designed as secondary school literature exercises.