mbt koshi know by me

On the topic of his hometown MBT Koshi, is a topic that would never say out, though, I do not know where is my hometown, hometown plots but still. Awareness of birds is always think most the season shall I call thee, songs when it ran pain farmer’s heart again and again when the Earth issued a stubble stubble green article, profound connotation and better vision to spell out a string of surprise; belstaff uk it is the alarm clock and the drummer of the season. Shall I call thee, spread the harvest Angel of foresight, pounded the pulse of the season came, transcendent shiwai and into. A before and after to the Grain in Ear, would be under the blue sky and white clouds, Takagi Saya shade which, throw that clear roomy and bright and slightly sad day and night of the calls, four tones: “MBT Koshi, cuckoo. “If a series of da Vinci Code, easily deciphered by farmers into the Pan:” Grandpa Po, cutting wheat inserted Wo. " Shall I call thee a crying, like knocked up harvesting drums, beginning the prelude to China no-tillage sowing, it is a type of soil and crops leaves Woo and timing, and is one of the season and time, or even villages a timing of the soul. Crowing it so loud, a village in the morning twilight was penetrated by its timing, a ridge-Ridge in the fields of wheat in yellow lights up overnight. Reminded of the ancient poem: “rustle skirt falling jujube flowers, South village north of the village silk reeling, cattle sold clothing of ancient Willow cucumber. “Feel the mood, as if at all. Courtyard of the home has big jujube tree, every time when harvesting season is coming, my father always get up early, top kiln brain stretch of empty flat, flat, whole and entire, courtyard of clean sweep, jujube flowers free fall a thin layer, and then sit in jujube trees start sickle below a sharp, bright polished one. And I is so of cannot help Sun, remember 8 aged that years, see was busy, and tired of parents, I bent on to with they together to cut wheat, looking was endless of aureus of wheat field, I took up a to sickle, adhere accounted for has a ridge wheat, learn was adults of looks cut up wheat to MBT Tabia, sweat along cheek dripping in feet of land, hair also Sun was fever, but still teeth adhere was, unknowingly in the had see stars pour has down sth sth Since memories are still impressed by retaining the moments that collapsed, kind of dry, filled with the soil atmosphere of taste in the MBT Koshi. And when I woke up, he found himself lying under the door of ventilated place, covered with a wet towel on the forehead, are visions of mother eager eyes. I am ashamed of himself as a farmer’s daughter, but then without the Sun, not as close as a father of close to land. Later experiences a few season for wheat, eventually arriving in hold sun exposure, repeated several times in heat stroke after the book, mother finally unbearable, firmly rejected my close to land, and want to set to I leave I keep my land. Buy account period the village popular, wealthy bought their daughters account, to marry dressed as polished as a dyeing-bread to the city, I can’t belstaff jackets seem to put up with his hometown’s “betrayal”. Later into the factory, silently from the starting line, compared to the feeling and the life of the field, more leisure with ease, each time the master saw on Porter will say: “this girl, always have spirit! " Most are those that can not be normal to the farmers scoffed at corrupt officials, often in time to be brought to justice, said with tears, they now only wants to be a farmer at the MBT Koshi, make people feel ridiculous, but behind this ridiculous, cannot help but were given a deep sigh of sth Striving for a dozen years now in shopping centres, had bought a House, accounts still remain in the home, there were around my soul dream land, native grass, a gully gully often unconsciously into sleep, then the real clear, always feel with hometown are closely linked. In my dreams, I never came out from my childhood, along with that time is the courtyard, old houses, land, crops, there are poultry, cattle and sheep, crickets, frogs sth Not back home already has a dozen years because no one rest day, even during the annual Spring Festival, it is the business the most busy time. Only what is gratifying is that I can proudly tell the beloved land, over the years, never forget is the daughter of farmers, have never forgotten labor and hard work – though not on the land. Is a progressive or a retreat, whenever a dilemma belstaff outlet hovering hesitant, eventually able to convince her case MBT Katika was the hometown of the land: I am a farmer’s daughter, afraid of what, big deal from new again, go back several acres of the kind of home, believe that as long as a refrain in the spirit of, farming is also be adept at. That time, the village is my maximum ride, she is like the mother in sons and daughters of the most helpless and most aggrieved when still accepted. Number of support down when collapsed often think of at the moment on the land, no matter how difficult the MBT Koshi, bite it through with sth But I know that they will never go back, in my mind, hometown itself, maybe just my virtual out to heal the soul of the village. I feel ashamed in front of my rhetoric, also shocked by their own heart by secular assimilation. I feel distance and home only, may be more than 10 years of time multiplied by a n times. I was desperate to see binary relations in urban and rural areas, still do not see a buffer, transition zone. Tried more to touch home soul, but is always limited, often from the bypass on some minor details. In fact, not only as I work in the city’s away-not to go back, even those working at the city’s young people-they also go back and between their fathers, have developed a deep divide became completely unable to understand the two generations. Village of quiet and warm, no less than they have been blooming young, restless heart, they prefer the urban bustle displacement, rather than to go back to that village. Only when the soul needs time to rest and comfort, accompanied by sinking a long stretch of the falling rain hometown has surfaced in the memory, clear, warm, palpable. I suddenly discovered that my body never seems to leave Mens Air Force 1 25th Nike Sportswear Dunk Hi Premium White Pack ... the native, it has buried our body and mind for thousands of years, buried a grassroots China thousands of years. Finally understand the connotation of hometown: for each wandering away-away, home is only a heart symbol, a symbol of the root, home is always wandering around the spiritual home of the soul dream.