reading you in the corner of time

  It is the turn of spring and summer of the year again. Colorful flowers are blooming one after another, and the strong or light fragrance of flowers in the air is always lingering on my nose, lingering; They are like drops of morning dew, sliding down along the veins of leaves, falling in the corner of time, rippling in my heart circle after circle, distant and long… It was also
  an evening at the turn of spring and summer, a small I snuggled into my grandma’s arms and quietly watched my grandpa’s busy figure setting up the swing for me. There was a faint light in my sleepy eyes, with a bit of longing. That night, I had the first swing in my life—swinging leisurely in the wind under an old locust tree, making a “squeaky” sound.
  Since that night, there has been the first thing I am obsessed with in my heart-swinging. Grandma gently hugged me onto the swing, then came behind me with trembling steps, gently pushed the swing, and the swing slowly swayed. I clenched the hemp rope tightly and laughed “giggling”, swinging my two little feet back and forth, so happy. As the breeze blew, wisps of white hair climbed onto grandma’s thin face, doting eyes poured out from her hair, and grandma looked at my smiling face, with the corners of her mouth slightly drawn. Cicadas chirping, flowers blooming, the old and the young under the shade of the pagoda tree, and the immature laughter of the little people drifting into the distance, everything is so quiet, serene and beautiful.
  When I got older, the people around me were replaced by friends from the village. Often three or two of us get together to compete who can swing the highest. There are many ways to compete, including standing, cross-legged, and hanging upside down. At that time, we didn’t have many toys, so we naturally did in-depth exploration of the gameplay of each game. I was the first to rush up, grasping the hemp rope with both hands, leaped onto the swing with one step, and swung vigorously following the inertia. After a while, I made a trick and broke the previous record. The child always has an unyielding stubbornness, that little head stubbornly looks at the blue sky, as if he wants to fly to the sky in a somersault, and taste the taste of the Monkey King wreaking havoc in the heaven. Seeing this appearance, the onlookers also applauded.
  As the saying goes, “It’s easy to go up the mountain, but it’s hard to go down the mountain.” The swing is high and the limelight is gone, but how can you get down? The young me pretended to be calm and tried to stop the swing. But a gust of wind came from nowhere, and the swing was blown higher, and the children’s cheers became louder, but I panicked. The figure is no longer light and beautiful, but standing stiffly, with a layer of cold sweat on the back, the hand holding the hemp rope is unconsciously tightened, the upturned head is gradually lowered, and the eyes can’t help but feel dizzy for a while, I can’t hold on anymore I couldn’t help but cried out “Wow” with trembling lips. This crying scared the little friends, and they all started crying too. In the end, it was my grandpa who came to rescue me.
  Later, when it was time to go to school, my parents brought me from the rural town in my hometown to the county seat. Amidst the nagging voices of my grandma and grandpa, and in the reluctant eyes of my friends, I left my hometown and the swing that I grew up with. In the days that followed, more and more children chose to leave, and there were no children laughing or playing beside the swing under the old locust tree. Occasionally, when the wind blows gently, the swing will make a creaking sound, as if telling my loneliness. Gradually, the wooden boards of the swing have moth-eaten traces, the hemp ropes are getting thinner, the sky is no longer blue, and the locust trees are no longer shaded. The once noisy village has stepped into its bleak place. Autumn.
  By accident, I went back to my hometown and stood at the place where the old locust trees stood before. Everything has changed: straight asphalt roads have replaced dirt paths, stretching into the distance; new-style residential buildings have replaced Rows upon rows of dilapidated brick houses. In the square, children gathered to laugh and play, and old people moved small benches to chat with their parents. Looking up at the sky, it was the familiar blue again, and occasionally a few birds spread their wings and rushed into the sky. The noise and fireworks returned to the hometown, and the lonely village ushered in its fragrant spring again. Looking at the scene in front of me, the memories flashed in pieces in my mind, gradually overlapping with the things in front of me, and everything seemed to return to the way it was before, I couldn’t help but curl the corners of my mouth, close my eyes, and feel quietly Looking at the beauty around you, savoring different flavors.
  Childhood has gone, and the swing has become the past, but the train of the years has been running, I can only read you quietly in the corner of time, read my childhood, read the past country life, and read the story in the eyes of grandma. A doting, reading the joy of childhood partners, reading the childishness and innocence. In addition, I also read about the civilization and vitality of modern villages, people’s happy smiles, and people’s yearning and pursuit for a better life.