On the weekend morning

On the weekend morning, I finished a short essay on the computer, and when I looked up, the gloomy sky outside the window didn't know when it suddenly cleared. The golden sunlight sprinkled in the courtyard of the people downstairs, and the frost on the ridge melted in the sunlight Cheap Cigarettes, revealing the indigo-colored corrugations in the ink painting. The scenery in front of the sky, as if in the sunshine of the winter, seems to have a temperature that is reachable, giving a long-lost kindness. Standing in front of the window, the heart is like a bird with wings, fluttering and wanting to fly into the sun. In this cold winter, the most precious thing is the warm sunshine that rises in the sky after the rain and snow. For the busy day, the office workers in the hard concrete jungle can be in the sunshine of the weekend. Relaxing the tight nerves and drying the mood blocked by the rain and snow, it became the biggest luxury and happiness in winter life, and was summoned by the sun, and could no longer stay in the room, as if you were not going to the sun. When you sun, you will live up to the warmth of the sun. I made a friend on the phone and went to the strange stone garden on Fengshan to enjoy the sun. After lunch, I climbed to the top of the mountain with my friends and went to the Kistler Garden. The stone benches, flower beds, and stone steps in the garden were all filled with people who were sunbathing, as if the sun here had a huge magnetic field. Just sitting in the spread newspaper, I received a phone call from my mother. There were several delays and expectations in the voice of the mother across the phone: "The sun in the yard is so good, are you coming back?" I held it for a moment. The hand of the phone is like a metal with a heavy weight. Since the winter, I have only returned home once, or to take the quilt that my mother gave her daughter. In fact, the mother's home is not far from where I live. It takes only ten minutes to walk. After the street is widened, the road to go home seems to be closer. I often overlooked it. The rustic scenery on the way home, but chasing the red and green willows elsewhere, often forgot, the white wall and the courtyard of the tile, there are people guarding the sunshine of a courtyard. But climbing the mountains and wading through the water to chase the high temperature. The heart is like a thorn, and there is a slight pain. Say goodbye to a friend and hurriedly stopped a taxi that went down the mountain. Go straight to the mother's home. I got out of the car, walked through the newly repaired concrete steps, and went up the road. I saw from afar that the red door with the paint peeling off was as usual. My heart was hot, and my aunt and apology were once again behind me. Walking into the yard, the mother was drying a quilt on the clothesline, and the quilt of the flower buds reflected the white hair of the mother's cream. On the water steps on the garden side of the yard, the mother was cut in the sun, and the chili peppers for the chili sauce were made for us, and dried with a sieve. I looked at my mother's back greedily as a child, and the mother in the sun was so kind and lonely. The mother saw us, the wrinkled face, stretched out, smiled into the yellow chrysanthemum in the garden, and hurried into the inner house to give us fruit. When the mother entered the house for a long time, when she came out, she only took a knife that cuts the fruit. The mother stood in the sun and groaned. She said to herself apologetically, oh, I want to take apples for you, but The empty hand came out. My heart sank, my mother is really old. Just like the winter sun, although it is warm, the power of all things has fallen to the limit. I think of a passage from the female writer Mei Zi��s essay "Love to Powerlessness" written to the mother Newport Cigarettes. "The mother is like an old tree. Unconsciously, it falls off the leaf. It is bare, even light. Like the feathers of the sun, it can't hold it anymore Marlboro Lights. "Yes, the mother is old, the old and frail mother needs the companionship of the children. Just like when we were young, we need the companionship of the mother to not fear the darkness of the night, winter. Frost. And we often forget the mother who has been working for a lifetime, but also need to stretch the tired muscles and relax the nerves of labor. More need to bathe her children who grew up in the sun, often go home to see, accompanied her sun-cold frosty lonely old age. We always pursue the warmth of other places, but often live up to the mother's expectation and the mother, even if it is weak, it will always open the red door of the paint peeling off, containing her often in the feast, lost direction, forget Go home to the child. Like the persimmon tree with bare branches behind the house, silently guarding the sunshine of one courtyard.
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