There is a kind of road encounter called warmth

Leaning against the window and looking beyond the gate of the community, there is a wide asphalt road and a small stone bridge passing by. Adjacent is a lush urban forest.

Here is an original ecological fruit forest, with pear trees, apple trees, and plum trees nestled in twos and threes. Ash trees, poplar trees, and old elm trees grow as if there is no one around them, spreading at will, climbing up the slopes, and swinging across the bottom of the ditch. , as if I am the master of my own territory.

The trees in the forest are lush and overgrown with weeds. Reed grass, splendens, clover, and pigweed are all over the forest. Gray cabbage, mint, cocklebur, and dandelion are dotted throughout the forest, creating an original natural scenery. There are no paths in the forest, but when there are more people walking, there are paths. This is where I often go after dinner.

Walk in the forest, feel the freshness after the rain, breathe in the fragrance of the earth, stay away from the noise of the city, and free up some space for your thoughts. I feel that time is passing through my fingertips, like dewdrops rolling around, like an inadvertent blink of an eye, running in a hurry, as if the years are like a dragonfly touching the water, like looking at flowers in the mist, with each passing year, only a heart can see the difference in life from the kaleidoscope of childhood. appearance.

Poplars and willows stand in the forest, like a natural green barrier, leaning against the wide asphalt road and setting off the street lights that look like an upside-down crescent. The wind blows the willows, the rain rustles the willows, and the night is accompanied by ink shadows. The street lights are like shining lights, and the road stretches out in the moonlight. Passers-by returning home are gently integrated into the embrace of the city under the guidance of the street lights.

When we get up in the morning, the morning light is surging in the forest, and the birds are singing in the forest. As early as we get up, we walk through the forest and head towards the beginning of the day. Every time I walk towards the small stone bridge, I will meet an old man with a slight stoop, aged silver hair, and wrinkles on his forehead. He is pushing a disassembled and refitted tricycle. On one side of the vehicle is a few brand-new bicycle tires and on the other side. With a kettle, towels, etc. There was an old lady sitting in the car, with a folding chair and crutches in her arms. An alcohol stove, a small wooden stool and simple tools for repairing bicycles were squeezed around her. She stopped under the green shade beside the small stone bridge. The old lady set up the folding chair first. , spread half of the blanket, helped the old lady to do it, and then tucked the other half of the blanket around. The old lady squinted at the people walking across the bridge to get in the morning, pointed at the old man, and tried hard to pull the corner of her mouth, "Uh-huh." ... Then he pointed to the small bench next to him. The old man smiled knowingly, sat on the bench, and raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

I often stop inadvertently, watching the crowd, and then look at them around me, busy and simple, relying on each other. "Grandpa, I want to inflate the tire, can you? With a sigh, the old man quickly picked up the air pump, buckled the air intake valve, and started to inflate the tire up and down. After a while, the old man skillfully pinched the tire. He put away his air bag and said to the children in school uniforms, "Let's go quickly, don't miss class."

As I passed by many times, I would always see students and passers-by on bicycles stopping in front of the stall to adjust the height of the handlebars or saddles, correct the pedals, tighten loose screws, inflate the tires, etc. Some people Give money to the old man, the old man waved his hand, someone thanked him, and left like an acquaintance, the old man was busy, and the old lady stared at him with a smile. I felt moved in an instant. I left the busyness to myself and made it easy for passers-by. It seemed inconspicuous, but it was a warm and beautiful scenery in my eyes.

One day I went for a walk in the forest with my daughter. Passing by the green shade beside a small bridge, a faint smoke from cooking swayed in the breeze. The old man was heating a bowl of porridge on the alcohol stove. One bowl of porridge for two people. I looked at the old lady again. , always smiling. I couldn't help but approached the old man: "Uncle, do you want to have lunch?" The old man smiled: "Yes! Pointing at the old lady, my wife is not in good health, so she has to eat hot food. Don't eat too much every time, just eat more." Hot twice." The old lady looked at me with a smile, as if she wanted to say something, she opened her mouth with great effort, and nodded again. "Uncle, you are so old, why don't you rest at home?" I asked curiously. The old man looked at me and then at his wife, as if he were looking at his own child, his eyes full of love. "Hey, the children are all filial, but they are far away. My wife and I are the only ones at home. My wife is not in good health and can't walk or talk. She is bored at home. I took her out to see the streets and people. She I'm happy. I'm looking for something to do and make it easier for passers-by. It's the wind that blurs my eyes, or the lake in my heart that has been flat for a long time. It makes me feel moist in the corners of my eyes and warm in my heart.

I walked into the forest with my daughter and watched her happily chasing butterflies in the forest, smelling the fragrance of flowers, blowing on dandelion babies, and sometimes climbing up branches. Her happy look made me couldn't help but think that one day my daughter might be like a dandelion baby. Traveling far away, I will be like these trees, facing the wind and rain, carving the memories of my longing into the rings of the years, whether life is flourishing, whether it is bending down and bowing, or whether it is prosperous and haggard, I want to be like the warmth I encounter on the road, to interpret the full years and slow down the pace of aging in life.