My home

My home is a small, remote village. The place is called Shimen. It is a small, inconspicuous place.

A row of old but not lacking features, the dusty door, the dust swimming. Thinking about the memories of childhood, the danger made me suffocate.

As night fell, the family at the door was carrying his own rice bowl, walking on the road to the grandfather's shop, chewing on the big mouth, maybe it was too tired during the day!

It was a small little shop, sitting in front of my counter, sitting on my grandparents. A group of people stood on the bench, sat on the news and discussed what happened! Children play and play, so uncomfortable! In the face of this group of people, I feel that all the vocabulary has become so pale and not appropriate. The words don't make sense, and the rhyme is in the loud shouts and the crying of the children. Grandma yelled at me to go home, I rushed out of the store, took my grandmother's hand, and said that while laughing, my heart is beautiful.

Another night passed.

I walked alone on the road across the fields, people bending over, holding sickles, harvesting rice like the god of death harvested. The setting sun is like a miser, hiding its last gold. The day was deeper into the darkness, the lonely field that had been harvested, lying there quietly. As usual, the grandfather's shop began to be bustling again. The grandmother came to the grandfather's food, and the grandchildren played and played, and the grandparents who saw it would smile. Listening to my grandmother yelling me to go home to eat, hurriedly put down the snacks at my mouth, flew home, and joked with my grandparents. That time, perhaps the most beautiful memories of my heart!

The second day of a Jimei branch school in Xiamen: heartbeat, heartache