Dusk, sunset, red clouds and non-red clouds are arranged with each other, this April, the breeze blows slightly, blowing the wheat field, blowing the dust on the wheat ears, there are not many birds returning to the forest, monotonous "chirping"

The sound was over a hazy wheat field.

After Zhang Bo got off work, he wanted to write the novel at home, but because he was not inspired, he walked out of the house and came to the wheat field in the field.

Not far away is the quarrying mine, where there is no shadow of a man, only one after another pulling square materials, their big round wheels, more than a person high, stirring up dust like a sandstorm, obscuring the sky and the sun.

There were no pedestrians on the road, only cars, only rocks as big as the car going up the mountain, and the wheels of the loader, excavator, and bulldozer were all dressed in non-slip iron clothing, rolling forward, deafening, and the road was trembling, and they came out of different ponds and ran to different plate factories.

The plate factories are built in front of the village or next to the road in the wheat field, and these moving iron tigers make different strange sounds, the sound of unloading trucks, the sound of dump trucks, the sound of sawing stones, the sound of hooking chains, and the sound of burning machines form an annoying symphony.

Especially in this beautiful twilight, it is extremely incongruous.

Zhang Bo stood on the wheat wall, retracted his gaze, looked down to see if the wheat was ripe, picked a golden ear of wheat with his hand, rubbed it with his hands, and blew off the wheat bran with his mouth.

It occurred to me that this was because the toxic dust during the flowering period destroyed the wheat flowers, causing the wheat to be pollinated incompletely, and the wheat grains were colored.

He lowered his head to look at the ears of wheat, but saw that there were many pink trumpet flowers among the wheat, and its stems were curved and curved, and flowers bloomed at intervals, and the true colors of the flowers had been disguised.

He gently plucked one and wiped the dust off it with his fingers, the pink trumpet flower was more vivid, and in the light of the setting sun, it was even more dazzling, comparable to the sunset in the sky.

Yikes!

His wife once told him that this kind of flower is called plain seedling seedlings, and it bears a shuttle-shaped fruit, don't look at his zigzag.

He remembered that the great writer Lu Xun also discovered a kind of grass called wild thistle.

The wild thistle on the side of the road has a strong vitality, and once sighed: The wild thistle has been almost fatally damaged, and it has to bloom a small flower.

That's the evaluation of a writer in the thirties.

That is the evaluation of Zhang Naiying, a revolutionary writer, famous in the literary world, short-lived, with a steel halberd like a wave of the clear sky.

He is too small, just like Lu Xun said, compared with the coachman, he even has to squeeze out the little one hidden under the leather bag.

There is a locust tree on the side of the road, the locust flowers have been spared, and there is a well under the locust tree.

Zhang Bo came from the wheat field to the tree to see the water in the well.

There has been no water in the well for several years, the well is not deep, only seven or eight meters long, and there are stones at the bottom of the well.

Because of the surrounding mines, the groundwater has been drained, and even if there is water, it is not drinkable, it has been polluted, and every summer after the rain, the water from the mines is discharged into the farmland, and the crops are dying, and the undead are scattered and standing in the ground, as if to show people the bleak scene of the rest of their lives after the catastrophe.

Can groundwater not be polluted?

Zhang Bo thinks that the problem with draft is that it costs a huge amount of yuan to bring it from far, far away villages.

It was the farmers who raised funds and raised donations to attract them.

"Uncle Zhang, what are you looking at?"

A childish child's voice came into his ears from behind him.

He turned his head to see a girl with pigtails standing not far away, two big clear eyes flickering at him.

"Who are you?"

Zhang Bo asked her in a soft voice, for fear of scaring her.

"I'm a girl, I'm from Quancheng, it's far from here, and my dad is the boss on the mountain over there."

He jumped over.

It was lovely.

"How do you know me?"

Zhang Bo asked curiously.

"Uncle forgot, I had a terrible fever that day, I had a very serious cold, and I was about to die, and it was you who cured me of my illness, and those who saw the doctor called you Dr. Zhang, so I remembered you."

"How old are you?"

Zhang Bo squatted down to talk to Ya'er.

"Six-and-a-half-year-old, in kindergarten!"

Ya'er is very naïve.

"Ya'er must be good at reading! What are your ideals when you grow up? ”

Zhang Bo said: "Be an environmental expert! ”

Ya'er replied without thinking.

"Why do you want to be an environmental expert?"

Zhang Bo was surprised that Ya'er could say such a thing.

"Look!"

Ya'er's chubby little finger pointed to the gray sky in the distance: "Those are haze, there is also dust, and there is also dust on the desk of the smog lying in Foshan Kindergarten, and it will fly in if you clean it." After people breathe it, they will get sick, asthma, pneumoconiosis, tracheitis, in short, many diseases. ”

"Ya'er is so smart, she knows more than her uncle."

Zhang Bo said again: "Why do you come to play alone, you will get lost"

"My mom is behind!"

Sure enough, a woman in her forties watched them talk, the woman was wearing a sun hat, sunglasses, a short-sleeved white shirt, half-cut pants, very extravagant, a jewel ring, and red nails.

It gives a concise, bright and refreshing feeling.

Laughing there with a smile.

"Hello Doctor Zhang, the child is not sensible, please understand."

Ya'er's mother said, very polite.

"It's too polite, Ya'er is the smartest child, and in the future, we will rely on such a group of children to govern our home, and we have the awareness of being an environmental expert in our young hearts."

Zhang Bo said matter-of-factly.

"I hope that cultivation is to work in the direction of goodness. Ya'er, tell your uncle to see you again! ”

"See you again, uncle!"

Ya'er ran to her mother, waved her beautiful little hand at Zhang Bo, and then jumped behind her mother and walked towards the village.

She has a rented house in the village.

Zhang Bo thought of walking around the Buddha Mountain Mine to the west of Shangcun, and thought that he would go to Shangcunshi's house tomorrow to treat Zhu Rong's illness, so he gave up the idea of running to the mountain.

He grew up around Wrangling Buddha Mountain, and he has a soft spot for Wong Buddha Mountain.

He was still thinking about a simple question just now, Ya'er called him uncle, his mother is not older than himself, he looks younger, maybe he was born like this, uncle is uncle, rejuvenation is just the hope of human life.

Reclining Buddha, he went to a few times ago, there is no reclining Buddha green mountain, there has become a mine dozens of meters deep, it has become an abyss, the workers below look as small as ants, there is no trace of childhood, there is no dream of youth, he has a heart-rending feeling, he wants to jump, to hug the mountain, to hug the abyss He cried, fifty-year-old people cried, only tears, no life.

Zhang Bochang has a deep face, maybe thinking makes him younger, since he was a child, his literary hobby has been intermittent, because he is too busy practicing medicine to think, sometimes he has not started writing for ten or eight years, and now, in this year of destiny, he has become amateur again, it is because the accumulation of grievances and social unreasonable things in his heart knock on his angry heart.

The inspiration for creation is present, the sunset shines on the firm steps under his feet, and he immediately goes home.

Zhang's house, is a two-story quadrangle compound, how many years of history no one can say, Zhang Bo is not very clear, the building, wood all in the field to get the wood, it is said to be sandalwood, ebony, birch, locust wood and other precious wood.

I haven't even heard of Zhang Bo's cost, but it cost a lot of money anyway.

Zhang Bo returned home, there were folding tables and chairs in the courtyard, he picked up the pen on the table, and wrote on A4 paper: Qingshan's request I don't know when you are, Tsing Yi, go back, practice Ni Shang.

I saw you, fragrant like blood, hanging on the wall, shining, flesh, on both sides of the road.

Wind erosion, car crushing.

The baby took off the milk, and the mother was looking for the sky by the wolf.

Tears are like thousands of clusters of acacia flowers, there are pasts, feeding jackals, babies are silent, but the mother is broken.

Decades of excavating the heart of a pregnant mother.

Looking at the heavens, the Buddha broke the waves, and returned my green clothes.

Zhang Bo did it in one go, and he wanted to put this poem in the novel.

He stopped his pen and reached for a cup to drink, but there was no cup or water on the folding table.

Oh, the wife went to Beijing to see the grandson at the son.

and he will return at the time of the wheat harvest.

He lay on his back on a wicker chair and looked at the sky.

It's already dark.

The surrounding mines and stone factories pierced the sky, and the noise of machinery was still so deafening.

The world, no, the world in this Wofoshan District is too irritable, too unpeaceful, how can it be like this, in the sky, the ministry will be like this, seeing the stars, seeing the galaxy, he remembered the street market in the sky, who wrote it?

Guo Moruo.

I read this poem when I was in school: The street lights are bright in the distance, as if the invincible stars are shining, and the stars in the sky seem to be shining invincible street lamps Zhang Bo gradually fell asleep, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if he had walked into the street market in the sky.

Zhang Bo sat up suddenly, as if he remembered something, he got up and walked into the study, took out a painting from the shelf, a sketch, there is a locust tree standing on the sky, the tree is full of locust flowers, and the big Buddha lying on the side of the tree rests peacefully, Author: Miao Qing.

This was given to him by a female painter about 20 years old when he came to Wofo Mountain to write imitations in 72 years.

He called her "Sister Painter." ”

---- this, it's so beautiful.