BlossomParker
Bio
Stories (43/0)
The loneliness in time
It's been almost 2 years since the "new crown epidemic" started, and I hope it will end soon and everything will be restored to peace. 2021 is already half over, and it's almost the end of October. Lamenting the time like flowing water, hurriedly passed; lamenting those gradually lost in time, can never come back ... Perhaps, they are in another time and space is starting another mysterious journey...
By BlossomParker2 years ago in Fiction
My hometown and my uncle
I went back to my hometown last month, mainly to celebrate my second uncle's 80th birthday, and secondly, I also wanted to take the opportunity to enjoy the landscape of my hometown, and then I wanted to collect the stories of my parents and grandparents in my second uncle. Before coming, I heard my sister and brother-in-law say that the last time they returned to their hometown, our family had lived in the old house is still there, but has been in disrepair.
By BlossomParker2 years ago in Fiction
My grief and tear
My brother accompanied my parents and two grandmothers, from the south to the north, sleeping peacefully in the poplar woods of the river outside the weir embankment in the west of the village. The river is the former course of the Jilong River, when the waves are raging temper, the weir embankment raised a few ears rap past, the Jilong River will lay down and meek as a lamb, the weir embankment is therefore respected by the village people as a god, to protect the village from flooding has been nearly a hundred years.
By BlossomParker2 years ago in Fiction
The courtyard in early winter
Another year of winter, the yard ginkgo leaves overnight fell all over the grass, yellow leaves, semi-yellow grass, like a soft bed, the sun shines warmly on the earth, no summer enthusiasm, shining on people, lazy, if there is a pillow, you can sleep comfortably on the grass will be.
By BlossomParker2 years ago in Fiction
The sentiment of the grassroots
Giaokou is a pearl on the south gate of my hometown, Zhaogun's hometown, and I love this land where I was born and raised. I have been teaching for decades, and I have never put fame and fortune at heart. I have always carried with me the sentiment of a naked child when I first started on the podium, and always pursued my work as a career. No matter how others perceive, I always think I am engaged in the most noble profession under the sun.
By BlossomParker2 years ago in Fiction
The Rhythm of the Violin
When I was a child, I saw people playing the violin, and the beautiful melody flowed in the sound of the violin, which made people feel comfortable and relaxed. Therefore, I envied the violinist and felt that I could have a violin of my own, just like the violinist.
By BlossomParker2 years ago in Fiction
Mother's Pickles
Mother is a master pickle maker, she will pickle several jars of pickles every year. When I was young, the family's living conditions were poor and there was nothing to eat. However, with these pickled vegetables, the meal suddenly became a delicacy, life also became a taste, there is interest. At that time, the food was simple, but the taste was rich; at that time, the life was poor, but the days were prosperous by us.
By BlossomParker2 years ago in Families
The book seller on the street
My family lives in the pedestrian street, after dinner often take my young son to go shopping, Jiangnan pedestrian street is not as lively as Jiangbei, but since the street on both sides of the placement of some selling Quzhou three heads, Jinyun baked cake, Hunan stinky tofu and many other snacks. The middle of the street placed a lot of clothes, cell phone film stalls, but also people come and go, lively up.
By BlossomParker2 years ago in Fiction
My Little Garden
The winter sun shines from afar, crossing the balcony and entering the living room through the glass door. The golden ultraviolet light touches the sofa, meets the coffee table, and the objects and utensils in front of it, then sends a warm embrace and blends together, and the unobstructed light beam is reflected on the snow-white walls and bright floor, framing a three-dimensional painting of light and shadow in the living room.
By BlossomParker2 years ago in Fiction
The most precious memory
Autumn is a sad season. Falling leaves, like countless yellow butterflies about to die, floating to the ground, also means the end of life. It is also in such a season, we parted, this goodbye do not know when to see each other again, perhaps, in this life is difficult to see each other, but I firmly believe: if there is fate, will be able to meet again. Childhood memories are always so beautiful, like water, bland, but evocative. Those things, deeply imprinted in my heart, have long become the most beautiful of eternity.
By BlossomParker2 years ago in Fiction