In the Mid-Autumn Festival, the moon is full of stars, and thin clouds linger on the sky, lingering with a few lingers.
Quiet and quiet night in my hometown, the clouds are light and light. The clear and clear sky in autumn, just purely like a poem. The leaves were shaking gently outside the window, and the sidewalk was deserted and lonely. A faint moonlight came through the window, leaving a trail of shadows. Suddenly I thought of Su Dongpo's old poem "Mid-Autumn Moon": "The twilight cloud is full of cold, Yinhan silently turned to the jade plate. This night is not long, and where will the moon be next year." Thousand years ago, "Er Su" reunited a long time ago. At the full moon, we will appreciate the Mid-Autumn Festival. However, after they got together and parted, there was no banquet in the world.
Mid-Autumn Festival this year, because a journey belonging to Taiwan is about to start, it seems to be a little different from previous years. I can't help thinking about the other side of the ocean. The veteran who ran to the freshwater beach every evening to take a look at the mainland is still safe? Many years ago, the lonely and young man turned pale and pale. Take off your uniform and return to a fateful island. Every night I want to wear is full of tears. From then on, homesickness was a shallow strait. He couldn't go, and people from his hometown couldn't come.
Does he inevitably feel sad every time he arrives on his mother's birthday? The woman wrapped in three inches of golden lotus shook her stupid body. That year, holding an oil-paper umbrella, stood in the misty alley, and watched him go quietly. The long horse team stretched out into the distance. How did she know that this farewell was farewell. Decades later, he knew that sadness had lost her eyes, and Acacia eventually claimed her life. That night, he held the yellowed photo, and his tears crisscrossed.
Did he also want to cut out a piece of moonlight, wrap it gently, and carefully press it against the pillow? The small, embroidered purse was the beautiful girl who interspersed with stitches and stitches at night. Right. The delicate fingers danced lightly under the lamp, and filled the acacia. Does he cry secretly at every raining twilight? After many years, she became a newly-married woman. It was not him who wore a big red robe, a big red flower, and rode a horse to marry her. From then on, homesickness was a short grave that buried his youth and his love.
I don't know why I thought about him like that, thinking about the lonely back of the mulberry on the seashore. That year, one ship after another, one plane after another, sent 600,000 veterans away, and he was just a drop in the ocean. Time flies, their youth is gone and their beauty is gone. Many people turned into dead bones in the mountains, leaving only a tomb without an engraved name. The sky in my hometown, the clouds in my hometown, and the old streets in my hometown are all thousands of times of dreams. Even with a narrow ticket, I will never be able to wash homesickness.
I started to know him a little bit. He no longer dared to look forward to youth and yearning for love, and the fallen leaves would not return to his roots. He could not leave the island. Years winds frosted memories, and wind frosted him. He and this little Japanese island have a relationship between soil and roots, tightly intertwined and complicated. His hometown opened up his life, but the island was destined to kill him. He no longer remembers the way home, his hometown is just a trivial name on the map across the sea. How painful he should be, like a deserter who betrayed his faith. He still ran to the beach every evening to glance at the mainland, praying affectionately, and repenting sincerely.
It was another year when the moon was clear, and he sent a persistent acacia across the sea. Quiet ocean, please swing his acacia back to his homeland. The clear moonlight in his hometown bathed the wandering heart of Yuzi. However, in an instant, the autumn is thick and the rain is pouring in, and the old hometown is deep.
Tonight, there are no flamboyant fireworks, and the deep and quiet night of Mid-Autumn Festival is more suitable for nostalgia. "Lu Cong is white tonight, and the moon is the hometown." Nung, moon and new moon.