My Hometown pure and calm river divides the range of the high mountains and the flourishing trees and field into two parts. This mellow and clean river, which never stops running, is converged by many spring waters from the depths of the mountains.
Terraced fields are surrounded by rows of fresh and green trees, that are sending forth of youthful vigor. Some parts of the trees are dense with birds are singing cheerfully of spring. Rabbits and squirrels are running amid the trees as if celebrating the Mother Nature’s birthday. A group of the thick trees that are inside the stone wall belong to my family. I still remember it vividly, about 10 years ago, under the guidance of my father; all the people from my hometown started an upsurge of planting trees for making the hometown green.
These trees have now become bigger and larger, but my father’s forehead has been marked piles of deep wrinkles by ruthless time. However, when I see these strong and straight trees I feel grateful to my father. The right in front of the stone wall is some green and lush seedlings that are just coming out of the ground as if they just get up and opened their eager eyes to breath and glimpse the human world.
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Perhaps this springtime scenery of my hometown may not look different from other places for other people. However, I still consider that it is the most beautiful scenery, and it will stay in my memory until the last. I wish I will return to its bosom to enjoy the
There are thousands of elegant and solemn objects to be described in this world. However, if there is an option for me to choose only one among the others, I would still prefer depicting the place where I was born and brought up. Perhaps one of the most pardonable reasons is that I had stored my childhood’s dreams in there. Though it is neither sumptuous nor charming, it is simple and unadorned. Some people say it is barren and backward. Even some people have said these people need to be liberated. But I would say this is an excuse. Whenever I reminisce the period of time that I spent under the red and dark cloud of this isolated place, I have some feelings that are beyond expression.
Spring is considered a splendid and beautiful season. People cultivate and plan hopes in the spring; people tend to spend time outdoors in the enchanting beauty of the springtime. Yet the springtime in my hometown is always slow in coming because of the high altitudes. The picture that I want to describe is showing a corner of the springtime in my hometown though the picture is not as exquisite and vivid as it is in real springtime.
It is a tranquil and lively valley surrounded by the chain of long, unbroken, rising and falling mountains. Although in May, the top of the mountains still are enveloped with an expanse of pure white snow, as if it is a preferential treatment from the Mother Nature for the people living here. For that reason, there is a name derived from it for the place “The Land of Snow”. No one knows when these majestic and relaxed mountains formed and no one can tell how long it survives. Nevertheless, there are so many different sorts of breathtaking folklore about them, no one has proven whether they are true or not. However, one day, some people came and told these native people: “stop defining it, all these are superstitions, we have to clean all these federalism thoughts.”
However, it seems not so important for the people who are living here for generations to find out all the mysteries about these mountains. But one thing they think so crucial is that they know how significant to guard all these mountains and soil that they think are so sacred. As a result, they try to maintain all their soil fertile forever. Perhaps it has the exact meaning of what the scientists call “keep the ecological balance.” I remember my grandmother used to tell me: “Don’t dig the mountains, otherwise you will be hurt by the devil of the soil; don’t cut the trees, otherwise you will get sick.” How wise and excellent advice!
From a distance, the mountains are like huge dragons laying on the edge of the valley to protect the people. Between the mountains, there are wide channels caused by the flood of the long course of time, as if these are the wrinkles carved by Mr. Time. A springtime when the dawn of the spring substitutes the darkness of the winter.
