05.2026 Story
Looking back on the distant traveler
Far Eastern Dyeing&Finishing (Suzhou) / Linda
My hometown is located in the Central Plains, with no mountains or water, only flat fields. It does not have the misty rain or small bridges and flowing water of Jiangnan, only many villages are concentrated or scattered on a piece of yellow soil; It doesn't have the hustle and bustle of big cities, only the tranquility and simplicity of small places.
In my memory, every alley in the village was full of twists and turns. When I was a child, I used to travel back and forth to school along the winding paths every day. On rainy days, mud always splashed onto the muddy paths; When it's dry, it cracks again and raises yellow sand all over the sky. Time flies like an arrow, and many years and years pass quietly between our fingers like fine sand. Children run on the road of learning, and their determination to break free from poverty is no less than the desire of children in mountainous areas to walk out of the mountains.
At the end of the village alley, there are occasionally three to five elderly people sitting idle. The old lady wrapped her gray hair in a green headscarf, her dark face wrinkled, hunched over, half leaning on the stones outside the courtyard wall, and leaning on a cane for easy walking. Under the gray beard of the old man, there was a mouthful of fallen teeth, and the warm afternoon sun shone on them. Everyone chatted and told ancient stories. Perhaps they are also reminiscing about their naive childhood, just like us in middle age.
My hometown has distinct four seasons. In spring, willows sway and locust flowers grow on the branches. The petals can be steamed or fried, and the taste is delicious. It carries the thoughts of long-distance travelers and is also a strong nostalgia in my memory; In summer, cicadas chirped and the sun baked this loess land. The dry farmland, like farmers, hoped for a sweet dew to come and save the labor of irrigation; In autumn, the corn turned yellow, accompanied by the buzzing sound of the harvester, and the farmer uncle also welcomed the joy of harvest. The cotton opened its mouth, eagerly waiting for people to put it in their pockets. The pears in the orchard turned yellow and the apples turned red, hanging on the branches in a particularly lively manner; In winter, the sky is cold and the earth is frozen. The wind blows the grass yellow, and the earth is silent. It sleeps heavily under the package of wind and snow, but it is not really sleeping, but accumulating strength and preparing to take off.
Hometown is the root of every person, and it is the constant attachment of every wanderer. When we were young, we risked our lives to go out. After running around in the city of reinforced concrete and interwoven roads for a long time, it was still my 'dream hometown' when we were busy and tired.
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In my memory, every alley in the village was full of twists and turns. When I was a child, I used to travel back and forth to school along the winding paths every day. On rainy days, mud always splashed onto the muddy paths; When it's dry, it cracks again and raises yellow sand all over the sky. Time flies like an arrow, and many years and years pass quietly between our fingers like fine sand. Children run on the road of learning, and their determination to break free from poverty is no less than the desire of children in mountainous areas to walk out of the mountains.
At the end of the village alley, there are occasionally three to five elderly people sitting idle. The old lady wrapped her gray hair in a green headscarf, her dark face wrinkled, hunched over, half leaning on the stones outside the courtyard wall, and leaning on a cane for easy walking. Under the gray beard of the old man, there was a mouthful of fallen teeth, and the warm afternoon sun shone on them. Everyone chatted and told ancient stories. Perhaps they are also reminiscing about their naive childhood, just like us in middle age.
My hometown has distinct four seasons. In spring, willows sway and locust flowers grow on the branches. The petals can be steamed or fried, and the taste is delicious. It carries the thoughts of long-distance travelers and is also a strong nostalgia in my memory; In summer, cicadas chirped and the sun baked this loess land. The dry farmland, like farmers, hoped for a sweet dew to come and save the labor of irrigation; In autumn, the corn turned yellow, accompanied by the buzzing sound of the harvester, and the farmer uncle also welcomed the joy of harvest. The cotton opened its mouth, eagerly waiting for people to put it in their pockets. The pears in the orchard turned yellow and the apples turned red, hanging on the branches in a particularly lively manner; In winter, the sky is cold and the earth is frozen. The wind blows the grass yellow, and the earth is silent. It sleeps heavily under the package of wind and snow, but it is not really sleeping, but accumulating strength and preparing to take off.
Hometown is the root of every person, and it is the constant attachment of every wanderer. When we were young, we risked our lives to go out. After running around in the city of reinforced concrete and interwoven roads for a long time, it was still my 'dream hometown' when we were busy and tired.
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