Life, is like a barren to luxuriant process. In this process, we can not ignore most, is home. Home, always on my mind, in my mind, a dream to wake up in the eyes, clear as yesterday.
I often think of " home " is what? Some people say: love and happiness is home brewing brewing, is full of warmth and emotion for taste of the wine. Was tired after returning home love true hug, is each other silently gaze ... ... Some people say: home of rain in a hut, home is snow days, a cup of hot wine, home is defeated encouragement ... ...
Home, only a word, is experienced in the world feeling confused, everything in the world, after the entangled noise, one of the most warm place. Outside the home, relatives, friends, lover, family, friendship, love, every day around the home open, stretching, far or near, or strong or weak, or leave or dispersion, or true or false emotions, UPS poignancy in the home side staged, annotation. Home, is very simple, content is rich.
In my childhood, home is a call. At that time I seemed better than today's children have more freedom. After school, never to appear in the parents, but with the adjacent left little friends together, a powerful and unconstrained style, playing a murky sky over a dark earth, until the smoke dispersed, hear the anxious parents around: " go home, eat. " This sound with my childhood, month after January, heretofore still echoes in my ears.
Taiping, is a museum, and a gas station. A book, a letter, a photo frame, can elicit a belong to your story, spreading South and north; a teapot, a hat, a chair, are stored at home culture and information, stretching from generation to generation.