When at home, whether small or father died several years, annual winter, the home of pomegranate all became my hands. I won't eat, tend to put aside a whole year, until they peel dry, until another year of long ripe fruit. So, it seems every fruit all eat several star, only the Spring Festival, I was coming from sheepishly drawer take out a few. Broke, each a small, pick up a star in his mouth, and slowly qing like gem in number to the light particles.
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That summer, just after the following year, the father walked with my mother to sit by the door, watching the boundless rainstorm next to stop it. Mother suddenly start, otherwise we pressed again a pomegranate it, then tell me about the process. I can not bear inner curious, says right now, or let the pressure beatles raincoat, entered and rain. I fold a position of from the roots of the branches and roots soft middle section buried to soil. Since then, the old tree pomegranate also have offspring, next spring, the root already gradually firm out branches, I use the shovel roots, it cut down somewhere planted by again.
After two years at home, and so the pomegranate tree to live for years relative speechless. Every spring is the most beautiful scenery, courtyard full tree pomegranate flowers. They tangerine or orange flower, drive too warm, open and bright. Even then the hardships of life still clinging to us, but just look at it a few eye, the in the mind is filled with a copy for the future of distant hope.
Later I, or left the life years of home, I think I must have won't miss such shabby a yard, I this and hard life farewell. But when my mother and I, when we entered the city which years back village, looking at the full courtyard the sunset, looking at originally call of creeping pomegranate will die, my heart was filled with great sadness. I really can't understand why, after geogrophical away from these people grow plants, slowly also die? Do they have the spirit, are in their quiet world, also full of strong emotion?
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But the years finally let everything became distant footsteps. Now, even let me sad two pomegranate tree was missing, even let me repeatedly miss their hometown was gone. In addition to recall, in this world, I again where for them. I think, this is doomed to be my lifetime of pain and irreparable regret." And in life, "regret and sadness, and far more than these.
