Time is like a knife, carving a deep mark on his face, announcing to the world that time has quietly taken away this person's childhood, youth, prime, middle age, and will also take away his remaining twilight years. Pen? Interesting? Pavilion wWw. ｂiquge。 ｉｎfo

I think of my grandmother, who quietly ended her life on that sunny and warm afternoon, without any warning. Time is a habitual thief, and those twilight years under the sun were accidentally stolen by time. One turned around, and then turned back, there were some people, strange or familiar, who were in love, and found that they had become forever in an instant, wrapped in the shadow of memories, and the vicissitudes of life seemed to be in an instant. In the face of the ruthless years, I want to curse, but I don't know how to speak.

On the west side of the river, shards of rubble and ceramics lie lazily on the shallows of time. In my memory, the old man who was obsessed with antiques often went there, and I once followed Jingxi to the river beach to find him, and his somewhat rickety body blended into a warm picture with the canopy boat not far away in the warm halo of the sunset. I could see that I was stunned, and I was scratched by a pottery shard, and the blood flowed down, but I was so numb that I forgot the pain, and in the sunset, I took Jingxi's shoulder and jumped back. Along the way, Jing Xi kept saying, "It's okay...... It's okay......", while nervous, as if it was his foot that was scratched blood.

is also this river beach, just after the Spring Festival, Jingxi stepped on the canopy boat and went away with the boatman who was rocking, and the farewell was always in a hurry. The old man could only lie on the bed, unable to say goodbye, after Jingxi left, I sat alone on the river beach, surrounded by pottery shards that had been sleeping for I don't know how long in the years, and the weeds that died in the cold winter wind in the south of the Yangtze River.

For a long time, in a light sigh, I suddenly felt that Jiangnan was old.

Yes, Jiangnan is old. The new walls of memory have peeled off their walls, one rainy season after another has taken on a new look, the painted wooden doors have revealed deep ravines on the surface, widened the gaps between the door panels, jackdaws sigh on the trees that have lost their leaves against the old and new graves in the bare fields, and the grass spreads all over the outer edge of the town...... In winter, those vigorous lives are buried under the lead-gray sky, buried in this cold wind, and Jiangnan becomes old.

On the beach, I sat like this, sinking into the twilight. After a long time, I went back, with a shallow sadness of parting.

The dim light came sideways through the crack in the door, pulling a golden ray of light on the stone slab in front of the door, like a crack in time. Reaching out and touching the door panel, I clearly felt the ravine left by time, and pushed it open, accompanied by a squeaky sound, as if I smelled the smell of time mold.

Frost cried out in her mother's arms for no apparent reason, and her little mouth made a high-pitched voice like a sharp sword, piercing the long, silent darkness little by little. The father sighed on the side and said that such a young child can cry so much, and it will definitely be enough to toss when he grows up in the future. With an unintentional word, the mother's face sank quietly, and Frost's little hand pulled her hair to play, and the cry became smaller.

Mother looked up and glanced at me faintly, and I smiled back, but she had already lowered her head and pulled away the little hand that was holding her hair. I silently went back to the house, lying on the bed, tears unconsciously sliding down from the corners of my eyes and dipping into the pillow.

Staring at the ceiling with no traces of smoke, thinking about the boy who always appears for a short time, like fireworks, at a specific time, as scheduled, gorgeous fireworks, each time is a short moment, but people can't help but remember. At this time, love is an ethereal holy thing, and only missing is extremely clear and profound.

Night, silent, cool. The dark nights in winter are very long, the dome is not bright, and Jiangnan is so quiet. Occasionally, unfamiliar footsteps sounded, and one or two barking dogs were swallowed up by the endless night.

Jingxi left the town, and a middle-aged woman came to the old man's house, saying that Jingxi's parents specially invited him back to take care of the old man on his behalf. The woman was silent, perhaps because she was not a local, she barely interacted with people and did not speak much.

In the yard, I sat on the bench and stared at her all afternoon, and she kept pretending not to know that I was looking at her, and came out of the house and went in, busy with something.

It wasn't until the evening that she saw that I was still sitting in the yard, and when she was by the door, she suddenly turned her head to look at me, and showed a shy smile, which I suddenly felt was warm. Later, I learned that the woman was not silent, she was mute, and her mouth could only make some single sounds of ahhhhh

No matter what others said, she could only nod or shake her head, sometimes showing a confused look. When the old man spoke, she was the same, she didn't say a word, nodded her head to indicate that she understood and wrote it down, and when she shook her head, she couldn't accurately judge whether she agreed or didn't know. The old man, who was not accustomed to being alone with such a man every day, beckoned me to come in and sit down every time he saw me wandering at the door, and he knew that I was very interested in his antiques stained with the dust of history, and gradually agreed to let me touch them.

The old man said that every object on the wooden shelf has a precipitated past, but the utensils can't speak, so they are sealed by time.

I like these objects as much as I like the beautiful Jiangnan, which has a unique temperament. The fingers brushed the surface of the ancient artifact, and some still retained the distant rough texture, as if holding the old man's hand, touching the vicissitudes of the palm ravine; The soft, smooth glaze of the nearer lines is covered with tiny cracks, like holding a woman's hand, caressing the shallow wounds of the delicate and cold quiet years; Modern imitations are much more delicate and smooth than others, like holding a child's little hand, grasping a prayer for the immature beauty of this world, without a trace of tactful melancholy.

Behind the old age, I touched a kind of inheritance. The old are constantly dying, the new ones are constantly aging, and before that, there is the upcoming new life, which is probably why Jiangnan has been old and will not disappear, a power that comes from inheritance.

I once asked the old man why he liked to collect these old things so much, and he said that he just liked stories. He said that every artifact has a story to tell, which is true, a psalm that has been omitted from the annals of history. Looking at the collection full of wooden shelves, I seemed to see a scroll of history slowly unfolding in front of me, seeing those melancholy frowns, hearing the gentle lamentation, and smelling the elegant fragrance of ink.

Fingers caressed the porcelain vase I loved, the word double happiness was like a closed door, closing the overlapping shadows in the story in another world, through the crack in the door to see those forgotten old times, to see the shallow childhood silhouette. The old days were left in the door, and everything was as good as it had been before. (To be continued.) )