Xiaoxiao under the wind and rain

The long alleys of the market, gathered together are fireworks, spread out to be the world.

In every strand of fireworks, in every strand of silver-red hair, in every stooped figure, he sees warmth, which always secretly fills the deepest corner of his heart inadvertently.

The first ray of morning light pierced through the mist, and a ray of light appeared on the eastern horizon, carefully infiltrating the light blue sky, and wisps of cooking smoke wafted from the roofs of the village.

Grandma used to get up early, and when he walked sleepily into the kitchen, her stooped back was tossing and turning in front of the stove, and the porridge boiling in the pot was emitting an attractive fragrance.Grandma added firewood into it from time to time, holding a cattail fan on her leg, and the red mist kept rising, circling into a beautiful shape.

At that time, the kitchen was full of steam, and the warm sun fell through the window, crawling step by step on grandma's hair dyed red by the mountain; the raised pulse tightly wrapped in the dark skin, a few calluses fell firmly on the palm, His face was already scorched with fine beads of sweat, but the smile on the corner of her mouth and the light in her cloudy eyes never disappeared.

Faint cooking smoke swayed in the rays of the sun, and red water vapor curled up.At this moment, grandpa and mom and dad were awakened by the aroma of red bean porridge. He listened to the boiling of the porridge in the casserole, and watched grandma pointing to the handle of the pot with one leg and lifting the lid with the other.The lid of the pot was kicked by the red water droplets, and fell into the pot along the way, blending into the porridge.Barley and naked oats have long disappeared in the pot. The red dates are grinning, and the white fungus is tender and rotten. They are dyed a light brown by the sweet potatoes. They are mixed together, condensing the sweetness of the five grains and the pure love of grandma.He urged his grandmother to serve him in a bowl.

He held a bowl of warm red bean porridge between his legs, and the aroma of the licked beans flowed into his nostrils smoothly.Regardless of his foggy eyes, he took a spoonful and put it into his mouth. The glutinous rice grains spread out on the tip of his tongue, covering the tip of his tongue like fine sand.It is the taste of the fusion of water and rice, and it is also the taste of grandma's sweat and love.Seeing him enjoying himself, grandma couldn't help but frowned.

They walked around the table, talking about the neighbor's child who fell down yesterday, the big yellow dog at the uncle's house by the river gave birth to a litter of puppies, and the misty red mist blurred their smiling faces.Every mouthful of sweet porridge hides the deep love of grandma.

Boil a bowl of hot porridge and taste the passing years.

Taste the fireworks in the world, drink a pot of warmth with me.