Native Aspen
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Native Aspen

Many years ago, in the hometown of the yard, I planted some poplar trees. Early spring season, although the winter has gone, spring is still very steep. I behave digging watering, sapling righting, compacted soil; looked at the tree neat Qi straight to the trees, can not help but be suffused with a few silk delight, there is hope?

Winter to spring, summer as cold to small, I nearly one year old poplar. One evening in the winter of that year, the weather was very cold, the wind rolled up the snow, and the earth was relentless. I looked at the struggling in the wind in the trees, unexpectedly in the heart can not help but a burst of tremble; this puny life could survive the hardships of life and death? The snow wild night, I also worried the night. Just before dawn, when the snow stopped. I pushed the door looked and poplar were still standing in the snow, indomitable, proudly to the day, only sidelined most of the tree is waist was broken. Is it hurt to protect a partner? Or against the wind and broken? I silently stroked its head, and put the feelings of the not to be on it, to pay tribute to it off.

Second years of spring, everything is prosperous. I came near the tree broke the poplar, can't help shine at the moment, in the broken tree trunks, unexpectedly again long pieces of new shoots, and green, fluffy, like smiling at me. I said to my wife, it's alive.

Yes, it's alive. Not a few days, from the broken trunk, and grow a green tall and straight branches. Although it was not so strong, but the vigorous posture, has the momentum of catch up from behind. I pulled out the long weeds beside it, clean it around dead twigs and withered leaves. Wife in the side smile: you like his father. Yes, they are not my children?

Every day, every year, my tree grows up. I love linger beside them, they love to hear them singing in the wind dance. In her spare time, I always love to move a chair, brew a pot of fragrant tea, listening to the tree on which the sound of musical sound of cicadas, watched the leaves through the gap of the shafts of sunlight, bathed in shade of pleasant breeze, actually heart somewhat satisfied. It does not peaches and plums so enchanting, no Hitom then Chanmei. No willows so frivolous; this is my preference for their place. What you sow, reap, plant trees to shade. Is this not a cause and effect cycle? So this guy is willing enough.

Many years later, I left my hometown, I have my hometown, and I have a home in the city. Is a high-rise buildings everywhere, everywhere is a piece of feasting, the ear is the bustling noisy voices and dazzling. But I always forget the hometown, forget the hometown of every tree and bush. Live in the update, the sun is still bright. Are my aspen trees in? Are they as strong as my children? Maybe they have become the pillars of the house, may become the exquisite furniture or crafts; but I believe that my poplar will not disappear, I miss them. Their branches and leaves, and the body, the "rustle" the sound of singing, always in front and in the dream; so real, so clear, so make me miss. I love my hometown, hometown love, love the hometown of the blue sky and white clouds, love hometown of poplar tree......


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