Love , There's only one tree left
Night paint like ink , The moon is like a hook , The sleeping night is a bit lonely , There is a wind blowing through , The leaves swaying . The light in my mother's room is dimly on , Weak light , Orange with some hazy . Through this faint light , I see my mother thinking , Sit in a dull way , He murmured ：“ Haitang is familiar with , The crabapple is ripe ….” I can't bear to interrupt her , Walk away gently , She missed her late grandmother , I miss grandma's Begonia , Actually, I also wanted to .
My memory goes back to more than 20 years ago . Mottled wooden doors , A low wall 、 Green brick 、 Old tile 、 Thick and tall Begonia trees . Every holiday , I often accompany my mother to visit my grandmother , And look at that old tree . My mother said ：“ She likes that old tree best , In the old tree, she can always see the wind, frost, snow and rain that grandma experienced .” Every time I want to leave my grandmother's house , She always stands under that old tree for a long time , Follow her eyes , The rough trunk supports the luxuriant branches and leaves , The cracked bark reflects the vicissitudes of life .
The tree is very thick , It takes two people to embrace to surround . Mother said , This tree was planted by my grandmother in the year of famine . That s , Anyone who has experienced it will not easily forget , There are often people who starve to death on the streets , Old people often mention it , Always can't help but shed tears . But in that difficult situation , Grandma never bowed to difficulties , With her hard-working and simple wisdom, she led her family through difficulties again and again . To save the lives of the whole family , She is always hard-working and tireless , And the income is pitifully small . How many times have you fainted from hunger , Wake up and laugh again , She's always laughing , She's not afraid of anything . Facing the difficulties and embarrassment of life , She never shed a tear , What she thinks is meaningless , There's no need to do it . It was that year that she planted the Begonia tree , Many people say it's a dead tree , And she did .
In my mother's memory , Grandma picked up that sapling , People say it's a tree that can't be planted , Grandma doesn't believe it , Just as she doesn't believe that any difficulty can knock her down . In addition to her normal work every day , Just to water that sapling . Last , The saplings are alive , More than a dozen members of the family survived . later , The crabapple is blooming , It's bearing fruit , More and more . Some of my uncles and aunts , One is more promising than the other .
I asked grandma , Ask her what she likes , She said she only liked the Begonia . I asked her why , She said she was a Begonia . Many years later , I've come to understand , Begonia is herself , It's faith .
After grandma died , I went back to grandma's once or twice , And like a mother , Stand under the Begonia tree for a while . Listen to them , Since grandma died , Begonia trees bear less and less fruit every year , But every year the trees are full of flowers . Grandma said , She is the Begonia tree , She's gone , Trees or trees ？ I seem to see grandma's thin figure become a curve of life , With a smile .
At night I dream of Begonia again , Dream of grandma , Dream of fruits full of trees . I wake up with blurred eyes , Grandma in the dream , The crabapple in my dream is so clear .