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The small village in the distance -- reading that year, this time

2021-09-01 19:49:29 Literary frequency modulation

        On the cover of the book is a small village , Red and green —— Some people think that mixing these two colors is strangely ugly , But what I saw then , It's beauty , It's the kind of charming but plain beauty . Like Yan Hong's thought , The more bizarre , The more amazing .

        These words , Different from the previous sharp brush , On the contrary, it is a gentle and talkative . It's like , In a forest , See a cabin , Push to clean , Xiangyang , There is a jade hairpin on the table 、 narcissus , And a tape recorder . There are village stories , It's also a story of a girl's childhood .

        Yan Hong has an unkind mother and a grumpy grandmother , There is a grandfather with a soft ear and a small hair who is struggling with fate , Have a friend who loves food equally and a seemingly ordinary childhood that makes you look red .

        As if , It seems that you are also in that small village that has disappeared for a long time , Never left , You saw her as a child at a certain time in a certain year, month , He and they , So strange but so familiar .

        She loves the time of indulgence and freedom , Even like that kind of arbitrary , A dilapidated real life left unattended . Like sandpaper and A4 Paper like , She must prefer the former .

        She will have more sorrow than others , Also have more sweetness . Just like the expectation and result of the future , There will always be a gap , Pain and joy . Only after pain , To understand le , One side will have the corresponding other . In the life , It really has the last side , Never again , It had to be turned into some fragments in my memory , Sometimes I cut my foot , That's you without shoes , Sometimes I cut my foot , It was a deliberate memory .

        Yan Hong, anyway , She hasn't changed , Still nagging like that , Still like that, Wenqing , Still love and be loved . 10% unchanged , If it's a little more sharp, why not ? Scattered, scattered , It makes up the whole memory ; Remember, remember , We are old ; Old, old , We began to recall .

        Read Yan Hong's 《 That year · here 》, Use a peaceful and simple heart to feel , Like scallops and scallion puree , Never separate . The past was like an examination paper , Paint , It's a mess , Until one day , You look at , Suddenly shed tears , Then you really crossed over .

        The same is true of this book , Looking at it, my heart trembled , The eyes are silently moist , Yan Hong's past is like this . What about ours ? In all the best times , Are flashing our shadows .

        The small village in the distance , In a wooden house , One meter of sunshine , A pair of tables and chairs , A cup of hot tea , A tape recorder , The tape recorder is constantly playing those years , Those days , That time . those , Our favorite time for all of us .

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