Appreciation of American Literature: Yang's Qingming Memory

Text/Yang

Qingming, a warm and cold day, a solar term with a silky spring rain, a stirring word, and a festival full of melancholy.

Qingming, in my childhood memory, is that my mother led us three brothers and sisters, walked for two or three hours, walked through winding country roads, and went to my uncle's house to pay my grandfather's grave. My grandfather died young, and he was gone when I was very young. Not very impressive. Grandpa's grave is on the hillside far from my uncle's house. My mother and several aunts made an arrangement in advance, all holding paper money in their hands. My mother also took her own paper clothes and took a group of our children to go to grandpa's grave. There was no laughter all the way, and the atmosphere was very dull. I hate spending time with him. Our party respectfully came to my grandfather's grave. My mother, aunt and uncle knelt down and burned paper money, still mumbling, and the paper ash immediately filled the whole grave. When I came back, the atmosphere was better. The adults probably said some short words from my parents. Of course, I ignored it when I was young, but I thought it was fun, novel and exciting. I played with my cousins all the way, thinking only about the handmade noodles made by my grandmother at noon, so that I could put down my stomach and have a full meal. Grandma's handmade noodles are delicious, and I still have an endless aftertaste until now.

Qingming, in my childhood memory, is a hunger day in that special era, a famine memory of an old hungry man, a long scene of continuous drizzle, a daze or yearning for the blue sky, a day when parents are not full of food, worrying about where to borrow food from the whole family, and a day of longing for a bumper harvest in early summer.

Qingming, in my childhood memory, is to break off a fresh willow branch by hand, peel off a circle of epidermis, hold the willow branch tightly with one hand, hold the upper part of the willow branch with the other hand, then exert force in the opposite direction to make the green skin slightly loose, then suddenly remove the branch and carefully cut it neatly with a knife. Guanfu dialect calls the flute "Guanguan". When I was finished, I knitted a wicker hat and put it on askew. I sat next to a group of playmates and started to play, playing the willow flute louder than anyone else. The sound of the willow flute, which is not in tune, is a dream constructed by teenagers. The soul only speaks in the eyes, confides in the sound of willow flute, beside the ditch slope full of pink eyes, beside the stream overflowing with flowers, on the slender willow branches, in the sunny or rainy weather. Blow when you are happy, and blow when you are sad, because the sound of the willow flute is the heart melody of spring, which reminds me of many buried Qingming memories: it reminds me of many familiar faces, the wisps of smoke from the farmhouse at dusk, and my haunted home-only the tree rings can remember, and the mottled traces have become a lonely past. Qingming is a melodious song and a sad dream!

When I grow up, Qingming is my excuse to go back to my hometown. The living seek their ancestors, and the dead return to their roots, which embodies a responsibility of blood inheritance. Go back to your hometown with paper money and other sacrifices to pay homage to your dead grandmother. Grandma's graves have no tombstones, and most of them have no tombstones after being buried, but I can still recognize her graves and silently tell her old man to put away the paper money. They had a hard time before their death, and now the other world is no longer short of money.

After marriage, later, Tomb-Sweeping Day had a holiday, and pear blossoms rose. I took my daughter and knelt in front of my mother's grave before Qingming Festival, burning one sacrifice after another; Or go to the cemetery with my sister, brother and nephew to sweep my mother's grave, erect a tombstone respectfully and plant two pine trees next to my mother's tombstone. Although the mother's life is not engraved on her tombstone, it is said that the owner's life is engraved on the tombstone of a great man. My mother's life is ordinary as dirt. Her gray hair, kind smile and hard life seem to be yesterday, and I can't forget it. Her kind, hardworking and simple personality deeply influenced me. Only by standing in front of my mother's grave can I really realize where I came from and where I am going! Fortunately, my father is still here, otherwise my life will only have the way home.

Tomb-Sweeping Day has a long history, about 2,500 years. Bai Juyi wrote in "Cold Food and Wild Hope": "The wind blows paper money in the wilderness, and the spring grass in the ancient tomb is green." "If you don't hear the heavy spring crying, the rain will return." It can be seen that Qingming has been a day to remember the deceased relatives since ancient times, and it is prudent to trace back to the ancestors. In fact, there are many sacrificial days in a year, such as Spring Festival, Double Ninth Festival and Mid-Autumn Festival, but Tomb-Sweeping Day is the most important and has the strongest sense of ceremony. Of course, the essential reason for ancestor worship in Qingming comes from the filial piety concept of "putting all virtues and filial piety first". Legend has it that many dead people will return to the world on that day in Tomb-Sweeping Day. Only by offering sacrifices to ancestors in advance can ancestors receive these paper money and food earlier. All primates live and die, so Tomb-Sweeping Day is also Thanksgiving Day in China.

Tomb-Sweeping Day is also a time for family reunion. Old and young people came from all directions to worship their ancestors, and returned to the crowd one after another to meet each other and go hiking together. "Love is as deep as rain." Where there are people, there is blood inheritance. "Listen to the storm and make it clear", how many storms there are in life, and Qingming has also fulfilled the dream of family reunion.

No matter who you are, you only have one life. This is the justice that God created the world. There are 654.38+05 billion people living in this world, and there will be 654.38+05 billion people living in the future. The world will eventually forget everyone's existence. "The wind and rain pear blossoms have been cold. How many descendants will come to the grave?" "Before me, where was the past era? Behind me, where are the future generations? I miss the sky, I am alone, tears fall! " "Life is clear," I thought. There must be a breeze and a bright moon for the innocent.

Look, the pear blossoms are in full bloom.

Yang, a native of Fengxiang, Shaanxi, is a senior judge, a member of China Prose Society, a member of Shaanxi Writers Association, a director of Baoji Writers Association, and an executive vice chairman of Fengxiang Writers Association. He wrote a collection of essays, such as Love and Romance. )