Childhood, the smile buried in the rings
Not far from home is a primary school, children's laughter will ring in their ears from time to time, children's brilliant smiling faces are still shaking in front of their eyes, childhood, that kind of distant feeling, always jump out from time to time. Tainted with the vicissitudes of life, golden years, brilliant once a teenager, innocent childhood, colorful a season of romantic time, time leisurely, carrying missing songs, through the misty rain fleeting. If life is a simple and unadorned old book, then childhood is the previous concise and active brief.
Childhood: childish, naive and lovely, lively and mischievous, pure white, beautiful and simple. Often recall, the heart will have that smooth sense of relief, unspeakable warmth, impenetrable pleasing to the heart, unclear confession. Everyone's childhood is like that cup of thick coffee, drinking, will slowly warm your heart; everyone's childhood is like a cup of thick fragrant tea, will let you taste the happy fragrance inside, everyone's childhood is still like the rainbow after the storm, colorful, dazzling, everyone's childhood is like the afterglow after the sunset, so people miss
People often say: an inch of time, an inch of gold, an inch of gold can not buy an inch of time. That has passed childhood, the years have long been accompanied by time put on a layer of remembrance of the veil to cover you, melancholy but also transformed into memories buried in the rings of memory, it precipitated a touch of distant fragrance, let my thoughts happily tumble, everything is in such a hurry, it seems that there is no time to taste, to cherish, gently flow away from the side. Reading and appreciation of American articles
I often stand alone at the school gate and watch the children go to and from school. There are always a few children playing on the road. They are chasing each other, playing with each other and laughing happily. Seeing this, my heart will tremble slightly. There will always be a kind of indescribable emotion. I often see children chase and play and fall down. I always subconsciously help them up, but they don't cry. Instead, they gently pat the dust on their clothes, shake themselves, stare at round eyes, and mischievously say: thank you. He he. For some reason, when I saw their innocent and reddish little faces, I would smile in my heart and say, "that's lovely." Yes, I am already old. I have already left that carefree years. I envy that this has been far away from my innocent childhood.
The imprint of childhood fades away, and there are only the most beautiful memories left in my mind. This memory, like a brand in my heart, is deeply engraved in my heart, and the freeze becomes a permanent memory. Inadvertently, it will quietly emerge from the dusty memory from time to time, re-plucking my heartstrings. It is like a charming picture, outlining how many touching and interesting stories I have and make people miss. When we lean up our childish faces and sprinkle the purest, simplest and most flawless laughter into the sky, we hope that the farthest cloud will be ourselves who we have grown up, but when we really lose our childishness and change into mature military uniforms, but miss the smile of the child who is blurred in the memory.
Childhood life is simple, calm, light as boiling water, but happy and beautiful. Every morning, the alarm clock woke me up, lifted the quilt, hastily washed up, put on my schoolbag and ran to the staff canteen of my parents' unit. I bought two big steamed buns and ran to school while nibbling. It seems that every day there is endless energy, crazy and unscrupulous along the way do not know how many scolding, but my heart is secretly happy, leaving behind all the laughter and laughter.
At that time, it was the Cultural Revolution, and school classes were already very abnormal. Some teachers were busy suspending classes to make a revolution. At this time, the classroom became our presumptuous garden, and the teacher in the classroom became our foil. We played and played in the classroom. It would make the teacher speechless, and the young female math teacher would burst into tears and cry secretly. Obviously, in that special era, for us naughty optimists, young teachers had no choice but to shake their heads and sigh.
When we were children, we liked to run in groups in the fields, to fly our childhood dreams, and to see the light posture of the kite in the sky. Perhaps the freedom of Enron in the sky was the warmest desire in our hearts at that time; we also like to shuttle between the front and back of the house, rolling iron circles and playing glass balls, and like to set up a wooden board in the alley to play table tennis. Sometimes we get red-faced and even fight for victory or defeat.
After six years of spring and autumn. Time is in a hurry, childhood is in a hurry, it goes quietly on this red scarf. Gently, quietly, before the aftertaste, has gone away. The graduation photos lying in the drawer, the once familiar faces, were scattered away in July of that year, and some of them were even far away from me. In another flash, we all became educated youths and went to the mountains and the countryside. We grew up and grew up, and although we still had a deep childishness on our faces, we stayed in the countryside for several years. There are too many disappointments in life, too much helplessness, too many regrets, too much nostalgia, the deepest feelings! Slowly across the old age, into the years without doubt, inadvertently entered the trembling old age. Looking back on the past, I can't tell whether it is bitter or sweet. It really has all kinds of flavors. Those who have been bitter and sweet, happy and sad, always think hard when they are alone. Looking out of the window in the drizzle, I felt that these years were only in the twinkling of an eye. When I am lost, I wish I could die tragically, but the harvest season is composing the hymn of life. The ups and downs of life, in the end, how tragic and stirring, how much passion, seems to be like clouds and smoke drifting past. I really want to turn the clock back, but childhood will never come back. Now, the engraving knife of time has quietly left a deep mark on the face, and the jade-like round childlike innocence has long been disappeared. when Luo Dayou's poem "Childhood" sounded in my ear again, that period of endless and dreamy years, has been on a long voyage ship, carrying childhood memories, gradually away, disappeared in that ray of deep blue horizon, sailed into the deepest part of my heart has been a long time.
Childhood is like water, passing in a trance; childhood is like a tree, thriving; childhood is like light, fleeting; childhood is like a dream, in front of my eyes. The past childhood, it is still smiling at me, the memory will still bloom in my mind like flowers. Childhood life is a light waltz: fresh, lively, simple and sweet. And we are that string of uneasy notes, beating mischievously, although uneven, but scattered, filled with naive words, composed into a fleeting song. In childhood, this smile is deeply buried in the ring; two playful and plain eyebrows, a pair of alert eyes, a pair of small ears, a smooth and delicate nose, a pouting and smiling mouth, a ruddy and full face, simple, people miss.
Nowadays, I always like to recall my childhood, which shows that I am really old. Some people say that there are many things in life, what can be forgotten is called the past, and what can not be forgotten is called memory. I think, probably the happiest thing in memory is childhood?
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