The countryside in my memory always smells of cooking smoke.

If you climb the back hill and look around, you will see rows of two- and three-story houses sitting there neatly and quietly, with blue bricks, white walls, and black tiles, like a light ink painting.

At that time, every house had no doors, and the so-called barriers were just pieces of short floral cloth fluttering in the wind.

There was very little meat at home at that time, but I vaguely remember that it was available every now and then. At that time, the chimney could not hide the secrets in the kitchen. If someone cooked such a pot of meat, they would smell it no matter where they were. So we kids ran from the beginning of the village to the end of the village, passing through curtain after curtain of floral fabrics. We were so frightened that the third aunt’s chicken flew to the low wall, and the aunt’s tabby cat went straight to hide in the back room.

< p>Even if I usually chase geese when I see people, I am scared away. So we finally lifted up the last piece of floral cloth, and the elders were kind enough to share it with us. After we left, there were a few greasy fingerprints on the floral cloth.

At that time, the dining table was always dry and quiet, with a pot of tea in winter and a plate of fruit in summer, because neighbors would come to the house at any time to chat without having to say hello in advance. We kids also love to join in the fun, walking from house to house. If we can’t squeeze in here, we’ll go to the next one. There was laughter and laughter everywhere, and it was a very pleasant time.

But when I lived in the city, I felt completely different.

Every house in the community has iron doors, and some also have anti-theft windows. The passers-by didn't speak to anyone. Even if they were in the same building, they all met through peepholes. I could see them, but they couldn't see me. Everyone is busy with their own affairs, and it seems that everyone has put a thick iron door on their heart to guard themselves tightly.

The dining table is no longer clean, and there is no time to clean it up. There are always leftovers. I can eat meat every day, but I always feel like something is missing from the plate. When eating, I always like to look back, hoping that someone will come in, even if I know there will be no one.

In such an environment, even if you open your heart, you will always be imprisoned and locked by the iron door in other people's hearts. We can only gradually get used to it and get used to putting an iron gate in our heart.

Now that I am accustomed to city life, when I recall the countryside, I always feel so warm and yet so far away