Zou Lao mentioned homesickness in his lecture. His homesickness is the ancient houses and streets that were ruthlessly destroyed in the wave of economic development. Those ancient and mottled things that disappeared in sight have become indelible memories for many years and gradually become a regret. When you are over half a year old, you are more likely to feel nostalgic.

Nostalgia, these two words are like stones accidentally spilled on the lake, causing a ripple in my heart, which makes me fall into memories. I have been studying abroad since junior high school. After that, I have been wandering for more than ten years, not only because I am far away from home, but also because my heart is slowly indifferent. I have been to Beijing, Dongguan and even Guizhou in the west, and finally I studied in Jingzhou, a small family with a beautiful jade. The tears of leaving home have already dried up in my memory, and the small mountain village as a child is slowly being forgotten. Occasionally, when I return to my hometown, the time I stay at home is getting shorter and shorter. I still see the mountain and the water, but I just remember that I am not homesick.

After parting, homesickness is a tree without rings and never grows old. The poet's homesickness is like a thousand years' circulation that will never come to an end. I, on the other hand, have lost sight of my hometown in time. Will the vague shadows in my memory fall asleep after three years, five years and ten years? Wandering and flustered, or disappointed, I remembered the songs and warmth in the small mountain village, but I don't know if this memory is homesickness or regret.

That mountain, that water, that person, that drip, where is my homesickness?

Is it a river in my hometown? The small river that runs through the whole village has clear water. On a sunny summer afternoon, you can see groups of frolicking fish and crabs lazily crossing the sand at the bottom of the river. On many sunny days, we left too much joy in this river, bathing, fishing and catching crabs .......................................................................................................................................................

Is it the scenery deep in the mountains and rivers? The source of the river where the giant salamander grows has picturesque scenery. Tall ridges, dense forests and rich game are all poetic under the nourishment of that clear spring. I used to take a nap on a slate with soft moss, and I also caught giant salamanders in a cold stream. Only later, the white reservoir stopped the mouth of the cave, the green steel pipe replaced the river, the ugly stone slag flooded the stream, and the ferocious power station enjoyed everything. Leave a canal of old vines and gloomy clouds, even the giant salamander has no home.

Is it the tea garden on the opposite slope? The tea garden right in front of my house is separated by a river, with neat and vigorous tea trees. In the morning of the four seasons, you can see a strip of green when you open the door. I once went to the tea garden to pick morning tea in the spring morning and put the light green with dew in a small bamboo basket. In the afternoon when the sun has set on the shady slope in autumn, I like to lie on the yellow weeds in the tea garden and enjoy the sunshine, or lie on the flat tea tree and listen to my favorite songs, which is quiet and serene. However, I don't know when the tea tree disappeared, and only in summer can you see a large green cornfield. I vaguely remember persuading my father to buy that tea garden, but now I am full of regrets.

Is it the pond in front of the door? The pond built to provide power for the processing plant is surrounded by slender willows, which is a paradise for my ducks. I have made a sunken bamboo raft, ridden in a big wooden basin and fished for shells in soft mud. Even in the winter of March 9, we also left happy footprints on the thick ice. Only now, there is no shadow of water except dry land! Overnight, things changed. Even the stream flowing through the door dried up because it had no end. That lonely duck, because it escaped by luck, is nothing but a desperate struggle in my eyes.

Is it Daoxiang frog croaking? Those rice fields dotted in the village, like small flowers scattered in the mountains, exude charming fragrance. Every summer, patches of rice fields along the roadside exude a touch of fragrant rice in the shining water, giving passers-by a coolness. Especially in the summer night, there are patches of frogs and fireflies flying all over the sky, interwoven into a harmonious picture of harps and harps. Only now, the overwhelming tobacco fields have replaced rice fields and dry land, and it is a luxury to encounter a rice field. I always feel that the air smells of choking smoke, and even the green tobacco leaves are covered with smoke oil. It's hard to see the frogs croak, and there are no more small fans flapping at fireflies.

Is it a primary school campus with beautiful flower beds that will be full of bright bunches of red flowers in spring and summer? Is it a highway that once had thick poplars growing on the side of the river, which can make us feel at ease? Is it an ancient well that was once crystal clear and swam with red goldfish? be ...........

Too much, just once, can be nostalgia, regret, but not homesickness. There is no need to worry anymore.

Life is just a few autumn, and many faces in life are just passers-by, even the naked playmates when they were young are now scattered all over the world. My aunt, who used to feel simple and simple, would rather sweat at the mahjong table than enjoy the afternoon sunshine while sewing. Those people, after many years, are no longer what they used to be.

That mountain, that water, those people, those things, those once owned and now things have changed, can never return to their original appearance. I miss these times, and I was sad and disappointed, but I also learned to bear and be strong, and maybe I will forget these wonderful times one day. These are not my homesickness.

My homesickness is those familiar bits and pieces that have never changed.

It is the taste of a simple pumpkin soup cooked by my mother, and it suddenly reminds me that there will be a happy taste when I am wandering; It is the warmth of the wooden bed, and there will be a warm feeling when you meet it on the journey; It's round and round, it's the taste of home, and I feel the urge to cry when I think of it in the struggle in a foreign land; It is the simplicity and kindness left in my hometown that has not been taken away by the wave of economization. When I am exhausted physically and mentally, I will think of such a harbor.

Finally, I found my homesickness in repeated meditation, which is a insistence on existing things and a material and spiritual nostalgia for those who have always been with me. I am worried that I will lose the simple happiness I have now one day, and I will never eat the familiar taste or feel the familiar warmth again. At this moment, I can finally remember my homesickness, just like the wild grass that grows wildly every year on the roadside in my hometown, which has no end.

Re-reading Xi Murong's Homesickness, I feel that my hometown is not so far away:

The song of my hometown is a flute in Qingyuan.

It always rings at night with the moon.

The face of my hometown is a vague melancholy.

Like a wave in the fog

After separation

Homesickness is a tree without rings.

Never grow old.