Nostalgia prose

Hometown is the harbor of our hearts, the place we want to come back no matter how far we go, and the place we can't lose no matter how far we go. For many people who leave their hometown for life, hometown is the place where our souls are placed. Do you miss your hometown very much? What I bring below is appreciation of my homesickness and prose.

A perennial rippling river flows slowly at the entrance of my hometown, winding in the bay, sandwiched between bamboo, water and willow. For many years, my fellow villagers have lived by mountains and rivers. Generation after generation has thrived here, and I will never give up. This is my dream hometown.

I am not far from my hometown, only over 30 kilometers. I studied in the county town with my parents since I was a child. Joined the army when I grew up, and has been working in the county since I retired. After several breezes, several spring and autumn, bamboo shoots have grown. In order to cover my shift, my father retired early and returned to his hometown, while I stayed in the county and went to work every day. My wife runs a grocery store. She is always busy all day and seldom goes back to her hometown once a year. The path in front of my hometown, the hill behind my village, the rooster who got up early, the folks who came home at sunset, the playmate next door, the old mother in front of the stove, and the first love who was ignorant and shy have all become my source of thought.

Missing is the most elusive thing in the world. You don't know when it will come to you, let alone where it grows and what kind of ridge planting it needs. But some people and things have experienced it, which will leave traces and become memories. Although it hurts a little, it falls in my heart dully. Sometimes I ignore it because of the hurry of life, but I will never forget it! Some emotions are like simple things in childhood. After a disaster, missing them will reveal a trace of bitterness from the heart. Yes, the door of memory was gently opened without any hint. The homesick tide occupied the space of the soul and blinded my eyes unconsciously.

Every evening, I will think of the charming sunset in my hometown, the villagers who are busy all the year round, and my aging parents. Whenever I hear the crisp birds singing, I will think of the four-season scenery and beautiful mountains and rivers in my hometown, the gorgeous morning glow and the smoke rising from the kitchen. Whenever I see the street lamps in the county, I think of the stars in my hometown.

This homesickness lurks in the shadow of the mottled old house in my hometown. Now a four-story building has been built on the site of the old house, and the old house has become an ancient memory. And the grass around the new building is still so green. In the pond in front of which door, my childhood smile is preserved. How naive and happy I am! Now my heart is getting closer and closer to my hometown.

Even if life is evergreen, leaves will return to their roots one day. Time is silent, running water is audible, and a leaf is wasted. How many people's homesick tears were destroyed by the local owl.

The things in memory are always unforgettable, just like an old almanac, which I occasionally want to turn over and look for the memories of lost years. The memory of my hometown is a pot of old wine stored in winter, which is mellow and delicious, and there is always a feeling of endless drinking. The memory of my hometown will always be an inexhaustible picture in my heart.