The wind will remember the fragrance of a flower

  When I’m fine, I like to lean on the balcony on the third floor and look down.
  There are a few bungalows there, facing west to east, originally used as a warehouse by a certain unit. The room is very old, and the roof is very dilapidated in several places, like a ripped cotton jacket, revealing the lint inside. When the flowers bloom, I have noticed that one tree is white, two trees are red, and two are purple. Line up several bungalows with gouache and gouache.
  In front of the house, there was a pile of bricks. On the pile of bricks, there is rarely time to fall, with shoes or clothes hanging on it. The most common ones are two pairs of velvet slippers, one pair of blue and one pair of red. They nest on a pile of bricks to incubate in the sun. Like a husband, and a woman.
  It was really a couple who lived, the man was the doorman of a company, and the woman was the street cleaner. They left early and returned late. They never met with me before, but I heard their voices, in the night, humming like insects. I looked down from the balcony at night and saw the light in the room and the two figures walking in the light. The world is so beautiful that weeds grow in our hearts.
  One day, I suddenly found that the pile of bricks was empty, and the blue slippers and red slippers were missing. The pile of bricks suddenly became very deserted and lonely. Are they out? Still sick? I feel a little uneasy.
  ”Seeing” them again was a few days later in the afternoon. I was hanging clothes on the balcony, and I looked downstairs at random, and saw that there were two pairs of fleece slippers, one blue and one red lying on the pile of bricks, cuddling in the sun, as if they had never left. At that moment, joy was free from my heart: Thank God! They are still there.
  The old man who makes court osmanthus cakes stops by the side of a road every day. Behind him is an abandoned wall, but this does not hinder the fragrance of the sweet-scented osmanthus cake. On the iron box in front of him, five or six small steamer baskets were stacked, with a tangled scent of fragrant mist, which smelled nice of steamed sweet-scented osmanthus cake.
  The old man is small, always dressed in navy blue clothes and navy blue aprons. He put the white rice noodles into a small wooden utensil, decorated with sweet-scented osmanthus three or two points, and put it in a steamer, but in the blink of an eye, a piece of sweet-scented osmanthus cake was made.
  Stopped at him and bought a few dollars to taste. It’s warm and sweet and soft and fragrant. I can’t help but praise him. The sweet-scented osmanthus cake you made is really delicious. He smiled very happily. He said that he has been making sweet-scented osmanthus cakes for many years.
  I asked, did the ancestors do it?
  He replied, the ancestor did it.
  I asked to learn from him, and he agreed.
  So I laughed, he laughed, not taking it seriously. But like this kind of dialogue, relaxed, happy, and not alienated from others.
  When I pass by, I will smile at his sweet-scented osmanthus cake stall. He sometimes sees it, sometimes he is busy and can’t see it. When I saw it, I only treated it as a stranger, and gave me a small smile-there were too many customers, and he didn’t remember me anymore. But I know that I can’t forget the fragrance of sweet-scented osmanthus cake, and many people in small towns can’t forget it either.
  Now, whenever I see the old man there, I feel at ease. Like when I was young, I went to a relative’s house, turned around an alleyway, and saw Master Mazi’s biscuits stove, my heart began to jump for joy, oh, he’s there, he’s there.
  Master Mazi’s biscuits stove is a symbol of the old street. Together with the old street, it has become the memory of a generation.
  Women who sell miscellaneous grains and pancakes put their stalls in front of our school every evening. The two-yuan multigrain cake has now risen to three. It tastes good, and sometimes I will buy one.
  Over time, we have become acquainted. When they meet, they smile and nod, which counts as greetings. Occasionally, there are short conversations. She knows that I am a teacher, and she will ask, teacher, is get out of class finished? I promised and asked her, is it cold? She smiled back to me, not cold.
  Our contacts are only limited to this. Faint, like an ordinary encounter on the side of the road.
  I went out to have a pen conference and walked for more than a month and a half. After I came back, I didn’t feel any difference when I went to work and got off work normally.
  The woman’s stall was also placed at the entrance of the school, with a large awning propped on it to protect it from the wind. The students have not yet finished school, and the woman is idle, with her hands in the pockets of the red apron, looking at the street scene. When she saw me, the woman’s eyes popped with surprise. The woman said, Teacher, I haven’t seen you for a long time.
  I was stunned at the moment, to whom is a person’s existence important? In this world, there are always people who remember you, just as the wind remembers the fragrance of a flower. This is the case for all the comings and goings.