This is a recitation praising Grain Rain's solar terms. I want a longer one. Kneel and beg.

All that day, I was looking forward to it, looking at it with thirst and anxiety.

Actually, I've been waiting for her for a long time. From Tomb-Sweeping Day, from the calendar, knowing that that day was "Grain Rain", I began to wait with awe. I have known the saying "Qingming, Grain Rain will get soaked" since I was a rural baby. I also know that the rain in Grain Rain is the rain that breeds vitality and hope-since then, I have been used to looking forward to a rain that comes as scheduled every year in Grain Rain, like a real farmer.

However, no, it didn't rain that day-when I got up in the morning, the sun was bright and decadent, and the sun was shining. Just after noon, the unbearable high temperature began to arch outward from the body, making people almost breathless. Sit, no, stand up, no, sit down and stand up again-when I stand up again, I see the grass, trees and flowers out of the window that are as listless as me. Like me, they are looking up at the sky. Like me, they are also looking forward to the distant and precious rain.

Thirsty heart, can't help but miss the farming in the country.

In rural areas, it is still the season of "seeing willows across the river in July 989", and the arrangement of farming for one year has quietly sprouted in the hearts of farmers. They may not know the poem "A year's plan lies in spring", but they all know this truth. Corn is planted in Nanshan and sweet potato is planted on the north slope; On the flat land, after the wheat is cut, rice is planted on everything that can store water and soak in the fields. Children like eating white rice. The field corner, the front and back of the house, the well and the bean melon should all be planted in the same place. That's fresh vegetables for months-of course, all this needs God's blessing, and it will rain. If it doesn't rain, all good ideas can only be planted in farmers' mouths and hopeful hearts.

People who have never planted crops or expected to cultivate and harvest will never understand the solar term "Grain Rain" or the meaning of "Spring rain is as expensive as oil". Just like a person who has never experienced the ups and downs of love, he will never understand the hardships of "a gentleman speaks and grows old with his son" and will never understand that "even this bright flame of love is only ashes?" . Good weather and abundant crops may be the most ardent and extravagant dreams of farmers in their lives. Every Spring Festival, those bright red couplets on the lintel are silently telling and praying.

However, in my hometown, in the depths of the mountains in central Sichuan, in that barren land, it is always stormy. "Spring drought" is as hard to avoid every year as the pain in love and the disaster in fate. I still remember when I was a child, in the spring and rainy days, farmers who depended on the sky for food always sat in the fields to be planted and looked blankly at the same empty sky. At that time, there were always waves of dry winds blowing across the earth. Pale yellow dust rose and disappeared; Only between heaven and earth, leaving a faint brown. Cracks in the earth, like hungry mouths, move slightly, expecting rain to moisten them. The sky is blue and far away. In the blue and distant sky, there are no clouds, so naturally it won't rain. And at night, the sky is full of planetesimals, layer after layer, countless, like farmers on the ground, looking at the sky-as if those anxious eyes had already seen through the hardened and stagnant sky!

At that time, the drought-stricken land and the drought-stricken people all had the same wish-it rained!

Looking forward to the rain, looking forward to listening to the rain hitting the branches, flowers, leaves and roof tiles, rustling, ticking and pattering. This is the best song I heard when I was a child-in that kind of music, even dreams are especially sweet, especially heavy and especially moist-at this time, if it really rains, there will be a cool pleasure that rises from the bottom of my heart first. Then, the rain plummeted and fell on the roof tiles, making a crisp falling sound; It landed on the hospital floor and crackled. People who hurry to collect clothes will be overwhelmed and fidgety with excitement. Even rushed into the rain, running and shouting heartily, filled with gratitude to God.

But usually, drought lasts for a long time. The seedlings have grown in the "mother field" (a small field for raising seedlings), and the red fern is about to pull the vines out of the vegetable garden; The solar terms wait for no man. At this time, neighbors will run around in panic and fear, burn incense and worship Buddha, and make sacrifices in the temple to tell God and ask God to open his eyes. Or gather neatly in hardened fields, burn "dried dragons" (grass dragons made of straw or wheat straw), knock gongs, pray and sing with tears. Those thirsty lips, like dry cracks in the field, express, pray and call with the same mouth shape. Sometimes not only adults but also children have to take part in this prayer activity. Later, in an essay called "Rice", I once described the situation like this:

"... on the dusty dirt road, or on the sweltering and cracked dam, a large group of naked children looked up at the distant blue sky and prayed loudly:" God, it's raining, please bless the children to eat white rice! ...... "Over and over again, the voice is humble, sad, tragic and tragic, which makes people feel sad and sad every time they think about it."

That memory is really unforgettable; Today, many years later, I still often wander in my dreams. "Lord, it's going to rain, bless the children to eat white rice! ..... "This only line, repeated by people, reverberated between heaven and earth, and gradually condensed into a force that shocked people's ears and souls. The hoarse voice, from thirst, seems to be on fire, with a strong choking fireworks and bloody taste. I often think that this may be regarded as the greatest "begging" in the world. These earthlings, the guardians of the land, solemnly apply to God for a rain that moistens all things with the most sincere heart to ensure an imaginary harvest in the face of setbacks.

Today, many years later, I have left that land and lived in a rich city. I have a job that is envied by the villagers, and I don't have to wait for rain to farm. Even my so-called literary life has nothing to do with wind and rain, and has nothing to do with astronomical solar terms. But my heart is still moving for farming, for the land to be planted, and for those eyes full of begging and expectation. Every year in the "Grain Rain" season, I will still look at the sky silently, wait for a long time with deep affection and sadness, and pray secretly with deep affection and sadness, just like a farmer who is used to farming.

The night is already deep. In the clear sky, the ancient planetesimals flashed coldly, just like for thousands of years. In the villages on the edge of the city, there are occasional barks, which are short in duration and drag the night sky more dreary, empty and far away. I still sit at my desk, waiting and praying for the drowsiness and the sound of rain-I know that at this moment, waiting and praying like me, it must be another person, a girl. Her birthday happened to be in Grain Rain. Her life, like her name, once took root in a lonely village. Later, like me, she left the land and farming and went to town. But she still has a deep attachment to her motherland. She once said in a poem, "Last night, I dreamed of going back to my hometown again/that barren and thin soil supported me/an authentic grass people."

Imagine the chirping of insects in the wild, the slightly undulating sound of crops, and the faces of neighbors and relatives in the early years, gradually becoming clear; Every grass and tree in the old garden is flourishing in front of us. Then I remembered an article I just read, The World by Han Shaogong. At the end of that long article, Mr. Han said affectionately: "We all started from the land under our feet. ..... your mother tongue is hidden, and the blood of your soul is flowing everywhere. If you have ever said the most emotional thoughts, the most joyful and bitter experiences, the most wise and absurd opinions in this language, you will never be separated from it again. "

Grain Rain watched the rain and stayed awake all night.

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