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t time we all believe that there must be an old man fishing in the river with the pure white snow in the winter； and he is fishing day after day and changing into an old verse。 But we can think about those pictures now only if we h*e a poet’s fancy and courage。 I feel the morning reading one day when I lingerer around school building； and in that day I don’t go to school。
Yes； I cut a class in my childhood。
When the famer irrigates in the field； I shuttle in a noiseless alleyway in my village and the indistinct class where I always read some archaic poems that I h*e wearied。 I feel alone in that time when I separate from the big group； my school。
The khaki road extend far away； I roam in my village from the north to the southward。 The flaps of sparrow in the sky break this stillness； and I remember two verses of book when I roam by riverside behind the school building。 And I always remember the picture aside。
A seed is sown in spring。 A harvest is reaped in autumn。
The villager poetize the first verse in the northern field； the river flows to the south with the gold leaf of sunshine； flows to the south with me and drains。 When I walk in the end of the river； I know one river is dead in the south of my village； and that place is spacious as a big river； the dead le*es overlaid the nude riverbed。
The evening is going to end here； the river burned crimson in the setting sun； and the setting sun plains never to deceive anybody； it fall down fair； and hide his whereabouts with the black fog。 And it rise again up the housetop of the canteen in the east village； ing with the golden color； le*ing with the golden color； so the sun mast be the golden color； the white radiance is the tired and misty eye merely。
The class teacher； Ms。 Ren knocks on our door in the sun falling time。 She talks with my parents about nothing。 She only arranges the homework with me and exhorts me to go to school tomorrow with a gentle manner of speaking； and I’m suddenly aware of this holiday； I feel very ashamed although she didn’t bring a lawsuit against me to my parents。
This matter like a not started excursion。 I open my door in the aureate sunlight and look at the school gate； and I see Ms。 Ren waiting at the gate for me softly； and I walk towards to her directly like a kite obeys the runner。
The whole class bees cheerful and light…hearted。 The peach blossom in the pages are written the peach words； the swallow are in the weeping willows which are rare in my village； its le*es hang on the water surface； the swallow fly low； the fishing boat w*es on the water surface softly and issues songs sometimes。 Those views aren’t in my village but in one page of the primary school language textbooks； those not appeared spring stories of my village also hide in the pages； and even the unknown stories which appeared out of my village； those a long story spread by years and years； and I meet it when I read the textbooks。 I am always thinking about the result if I hadn’t attended school。
It’s terrible。
Some verses occur in the old time。 The verses may be hiding in the deadwood。 I find them in the south of my village； in the age…old Tung； and some stories that maybe took place in last year but end in this year； but those are dead twigs and withered le*es； hiding in the pale yellowish green le*es； swayed by the wind and sobbing every times。
I climb those trees and break the dead branches off。 I break apart the stories between the branches and the years； and they are the sleepy stories； blow away by the wind。 I find the dead branches are so weak that they drop down to the ground quickly when I touch with them。 I gather a bundle of dead branches and stories； and shoulder them on the back； or haul them to my home； they burn violently in our kitchen range； and our dinner is cooking on that fire。 I guess that the black *oke from our chimney may hide those old stories and those stories change into the ash。 But I don’t want to talk about the trees’ ash now。
My clas*ate Roger’s father talks with Zhen Yong’s father in the school gate； Jin Lei’s mother chat with Mr。 Ren。 They will take us to the town’s primary school for the sample examination； as the excellent student’s parent they discontinue the whole day’s farm work and wait in the school gate。 In that morning the dew had not evaporated totally。
And after Ms。 Ren’s short report we fly with parent’s wings to the examination room。 We meet other students in our town； and the parent meets other parent。 This sample examination is like an enlarged learning meeting； and so many excellent students （except of the student whose parent was on good terms with teacher） join in the examination。 The Xi Ling experimental primary school is a former site of Xi Ling Buddhist temple。
Beside its gate is a bowl…shaped lake； and the canteen stands on the side of lake。 There are many popsicles in that icebox； I like them very much because it taste more sweet than our home…made ice…lolly with the saccharin and ice water。 But I clearly understand now that those popsicles are also made by the storekeeper。
My father takes me to eat the lightly fried Chinese bread after the examination。 This is that one what my father has brought home for me when he came back from the construction field； this is that one makes very happy in those days during which my father was doing some plasterer works； and this is a ’s stand beside on the highway。
The butter jumps on the baking hot saucepan。 The lightly fried Chinese bread is fried in shallow oil。 Those are some encourage and rewards for the excellent student。 And I eat them all the way； the wind whirr with my father’s clothes； the happiness is a song like the creak of bicycle’s running on the ground。txt电子书分享平台
School
I h*e hovered in this road between my door and the school gate； which has not enough hectometers for five years。 I walk down two courtyards and a short way with the blue brick wall standing beside。 I saw the honeybee and bullfinch fly busily from the sheltered courtyard； and I watch to the bullfinch on the tree with the lost mood； I stand in front of the school gate and was suffocated by the flying dusts from the dry ground； and my good spirits also lost with the flute and crown made from the swallow in spring。
I h*e hovered very quietly in the school after class and bee one part of school； I always look into the address of some letters from the office windows； some building and streets of the address outside the Xi Ling town and written in the last line on the letters。 Those address contact with our village and means that someone outside remembers and thinks about my fellow villagers； just like my father misses us。 Then the Xi Ling town must be the center of those people。
I stand by the flag tower； confused thought about those things。 A bulging envelope was discarded on the reception office table。 It must contain a long massage； a conversation that may not occur eventually。 I want to tell the writer that there is no evidence of this person； but it is a job for the postman。 And I only ramble in our school like a guard。
I wandered in the campus and met grandpa when he teaches his students music class； they step forward while lifting one arm toward the sun； singing： East Is Red； the sun rose。 Those few students actually pointed with a fist to the sunset singing。
I look forward to the time to study music with grandpa，but he was transferred outside the village school as the only other family names； so music class was abolished in our primary school。 And I don’t show the pride and joy when my teacher told me the sample examination result； although I win all prizes。 No music lessons； no abacus class； I h*e forgotten； however I go on disappointed。
I h*e prepared for a long time in my heart to study those classes； and my hope of music class and abacus class was collapsed and flooded。 I’m a student with a bias； but they did not understand why only I can get the best achievement。 I h*e been unable to understand what they thought about me when I performed above the crowding of their children in their school for five years。 How do they fort their descendants as poor students？
My grandpa lives in the south village； he must be more near to the sunshine。 He sit in the red lacquer wooden chair under the sun in his central courtyard； and bright as the sun。
“Good； work hard！” he always said。
“There are only a few students in our family； you should try to make a good showing。” He said by himself and eyes over go my head to the last step of the sun setting； I think it’s a private ceremony to him when he talks about this。
“Grandpa； what I can get if I go to a college？”
He wanted me to be a college student without stopping。 I think it maybe the same as our primary school。
“University can give you a job； ah； you needn’t worry about your job forever when you graduated。” He said happily as if his grandson has got the university admission notice。
“You are *art and assiduous in studying； you can take your brothers out of the rural areas when you succeed。” He entered in the reveries。 He likes to p