Part One: I will always trail hometown nostalgia trail home. Around the home village turned out to be a section of curved trail.After many years people trail grind feet, rolling wheels, already hard as stone, reveals a bright shining light, showing a silver color, thin like a rope, is wound back and forth around the village, practically invisible suddenly now no head and tail, like the wind gently float up. When I first conceived in your mother from a rural trail prostrate, then bigger, and they pulled my parents on the path toddler, leaving a trail of footsteps and skew my clumsy footprints.All the people in the village had to trail out into the villagers out of the village had from the road, all required production life of the villagers had from villages and households.People who can not do without it this country lanes, I was up the path from the village, a step back foot on the road, like a small fish from the stream swim into the rivers and then into the vast ocean of life. Country lanes and more like a mother’s outstretched hand, her sons and daughters tightly cuddle. She hugged wells legs, holding her waist orchard.The early light of dawn, the trail still sleeping, someone opened the squeak of the courtyard, some people stir up a bucket to the well to fetch water.People are coming and going while carrying water trail, pole squeak squeak twist twisted like singing a cheerful song, splashing water droplets moisten the trail, like a spring rain over the next.Trail awake, people from where the black white fertilizer manure feed orchards, applied into the soil root fruit, orchard furrow clear well water flows into the mouth, the field plot of the fruit of the tree drunk soon reddening mouth Pang.Ripe fruit, the car pulled shoulder, people up the path of the fruit shipped back to the village. Country lanes, she tied the bullpen sheepfold, fluttering her arm Qunjiao creek.Pens open, like sheep off the string of pearls, a small road in the rolling green grass, shepherd over crisp whip exploding spent on trail. Extends through the grass, she pulled shop school, into the woods, she stroked the sluice bridge.Trail ah, you like a long silk sash, wearing a green jade collections, departments and regions onyx. She wore a grinding mill shed, barn holding her hand, pulling the feet of the stage.I seem to see the mother holding dustpan broom tucked come, Jiu gray, black jacket, Dianzhe feet, put the food down on the Nianpan. Net-field light to the particle positions, the stage sounded cymbals.Hard year agricultural people, covered with mud and trail-head, trapping the trail for the stage.A stool sitting in the audience, sipping tea and nibbling seeds, listening to opera, do not mention that nourish effort. Country lanes, the glow, like a brocade, like a string of pearls shine in the moonlight. Dusk, sunset wipe the golden head of the village, the trail becomes golden, and she was like a mother as gentle, grandmotherly kind.Shepherd old man to catch a river “Xuelang” village, and the crowded narrow trail; vegetables guy pulled a car emerald village, and the trail reflect green; pink clouds Flower Girl lug a load of the village, the trail incense.Students lined up singing home, a mischievous donkey herd of ducks quack, lively hubbub trail.Closer, closer, and like sheep paving cotton blanket, like cattle moving BRIC, suddenly filled with gold and silver bullpen sheepfold. Twilight concentrated, the trail has returned to its original serenity.Moonlight shining trail, breeze blowing the breath of flowers and honey, in the vast darkness of the trail and village people to sleep. Country lanes, decorated Ti Hua how much, how many footprints India, she makes life more boiling hot, she makes a better vision wound in people’s hearts. Although the trail long love longer, she always put children hang heart. Trail curved my endless thoughts, crooked trail carries too much nostalgia, go away, home light volume mist quietly meandering trail head is always installed in the heart. Part II: trail, falling to spend a quiet, hazy rain, gentle breeze, Mantianhuayu.A world of flowers, the rain of heaven, I was under the umbrella, wandering alone! The stick under the sun, spit out new shoots springing up.A misty rain, wake up branches that returning the smile.Glimmer of sunlight shines through, the branches more attractive eye-catching.Like a string of gorgeous bloom of youth, shy and vibrant. The tree-lined trail, long and silent.Thick dead leaves on the ground, had to cover up the trail of appearance.I dragged lonely shadow, holding an umbrella, light-weight through.Light breeze blowing, holding that filled the air like snowflakes petals.Subtle fragrance bursts, left in my side. I put away the hands of the umbrella, looked up, eyes closed, any Huayu float in the air, across my face!When a trace of a breeze through the green earth, casual, actually quietly to the earth covered with clothes.White spirit, light dance in the wind!Skirt swaying in the wind, but the earth beloved girl? Such a quiet and romantic moments, I alone obsessed with this painting in the same way.Days with this scenario is interleaved halls.Falling Petals, is married girl.Let the bird fly away wings, do your bridesmaids; let the breeze, put on your wedding dress.A network spent a sauna, fall on my world.I still, alone, in the quiet tree-lined walking trail.A long trail, always no end in sight.It’s like the fate of the road, seemingly too short, but long.Petals that float in the air, like my life, short but full of romance.In that brief moment, my life as a bird branches, travel in the same paradise flowers! A Gu Ying, one of the world.I close my eyes and feel the soft product leaves the TV drama.They return to their roots, still make the last vestiges of power to nourish the tree. I do not envy that thick straight branches.I was alone on this petals, litter alone interest.They are low-key, no power struggle with the world; alone falling, no comparisons Yan United States.They drift in the wind, but to draw the world’s most beautiful arc; they left behind, but devote the last vestiges of enthusiasm turned into mud more quadrangle. I walked light-weight, close your eyes.That rustling petals, draw poetry in the wind like arc.The gentle breeze, bring a rain Huayu.I walked slowly, that any Huayu, hit me in the cheek.Quiet beauty of this flower, touched my sorrow.Hanging in his eyes moist, it is God’s gift or melancholy heart? White snowflakes, falling on the leaves that litter the plot.Foot twigs Cui Xiang, plus rain Huayu.Quiet, this is the main theme of the world.If some more melancholy rain, I am willing to throw away the hands of the umbrella, into this same sea paradise! Walking in silence such a trail, I sometimes happy, sometimes low.The branches are birds chirping gives me sweet?Or that piece of falling stimulate my sorrow? A man, an umbrella.Umbrella to protect me, I’m enjoying the falling.I would have walked this way, at the end of temptation, it is no longer in my direction.I would like in such a small trail of sadness, melancholy, until the demise! I am proud to walk in this trail, accompanied by patches of dead branches and falling Cui Xiang!This is my world, poetic hall. Part Three: childhood trail my hometown, a rice with fish and beautiful legend’s hometown, a remote hamlet, the vertical and horizontal clear large tracts of farmland and fish ponds is this “land of plenty” dazzling emerald stars in my eyes filled a fairy tale, full of dreams of a childhood dream to sing in a rural home crooked trail conceived, sing in every season of my life, my childhood friend are now pursuing their own course, to fight their own blue sky, and At this point I stood on the road covered with cement home that looked at the curved road trail, it has been extended to the distant deep abandoned old house. Early morning light reveals a silky spread like mist on the path, not embark on this path for many years, and my heart can not help but have a deep feeling of love. Among the grass grassy overflowing in the morning, you can clearly see, the whole piece of green sea in a white bottom to be ground into the feet trail winding away into the distance, like an oasis in the white silk ribbon, made me think of crossing Amazon rainforest of the Amazon River, making it seem mysterious old house in the morning mist, like a fairy tale castle West in general, I looked at the lush rice fields and along the banks of lush, set foot here, can not help recollections of childhood innocence that front , jump in the various scenarios eyes, holding hands partners, carrying a small book bags Grandma’s hand-stitched, doing little game to jump to the home, where the road curved thirty-four, loaded with our laughter, the most number busy spring season, the road on both sides of the small water ditch “pound” is dripping with spring water, life in the making, natural singing, barefoot, chased the frog out of its hole just played out, marching piece of innocence ribbons, back home in peace, earth tones earthy all the way home nor fade, grandfather dragged coated in mud trousers went to the table in Grandma cried cry, I saw from the fields to catch get back to Grandpa’s face is mud Tabby and fell about laughing, my grandfather did not think of, pick up the chopsticks covered with earthy meals breathing eat up.Long grandfather was a cool funny, cool in the summer when, often in front of the neighborhood women and grandmother to open more sensational joke, like a grandmother to get a smile youth has also angered grandmother cursed on a “dead shameless “, prompting summer night sounds of crickets have stopped, to listen to this old love words, little granddaughter nestled in the arms of her grandmother, listening also followed grinning laugh, with the breeze, small granddaughter said, suddenly thought of the drama of love, I feel love too grandfather and grandmother, I looked up and a small head, and asked my grandfather, “and when you love grandma, grandpa grandma chase?Grandma or Grandpa ah chase?”In the beginning prepare whine like cricket like discovering a new continent suddenly stopped, the presence of the neighborhood are showing a young laughter, so simply, like a child-like group play, the whole romantic summer night. Gradually the sun falling on the fields, white ribbon trail as more and more obvious, I think, if the autumn this trail will be widened a lot and a lot of yellow, because that is the harvest season.I tried to find childhood footprints in the gutter, where we had the time of harvest young, but found that the ditch has been cracked, fish already know where to go, but there are several more frogs off, nothing seemed angry, I am slightly disappointed. Pure dream perhaps disappointed and did not want to break up my passion back to the old house, I’m still happy childhood marching woven trail, looking at home is getting closer, and my heart excited, looking at both sides of the field, trying to find more mostly my childhood. Ditch, there is water there is shrimp, every Friday night after school, our group of children, both men and women in action, catch frogs along the way, there is something called “soil frog” We had prepared all income bag, on the corner of the house, ready for shrimp fishing tomorrow.At daybreak, we begin to take action, representing their own turf in the side of the ditch trail early in the morning when the shrimp are surfaced let us joy, a morning can make us gain a keg, then Mimi the eat a meal, the kind of childhood happy faces until now rippling in my eyes, slowly, I went back to the places that they have to catch shrimp, I am sad that the ditch has been exhausted, but on the inside several students lay a yellow embroidered pesticides boxes, people have changed, I looked at the front of this piece pain experience with support for up green pesticides, more than a dash of loss. I looked at the bustling lost, lost his beloved toy like a child.Maybe people harvest more up, but we lost it more. When I was 20, I tried to come back to the place of his childhood, to find once pure romance, but when I then go through childhood trail dozen Spring and Autumn, once the romance is gone, but I still clutching the childhood memories to look now trail, to daydream, to remember those wonderful childhood.Because the old house is still intact in front of me, I am happy that at least my childhood home, still. I, there is hope.