Everyone has a grandmother. Me too, but my grandmother is gone. She is sleeping under the old locust tree halfway up the back of the house.. The happiest thing in childhood was going to grandma’s house. Grandma is not far from my house. She climbed over a beam and ran a stream to arrive. Although more than ten miles away, the mountain road is rugged and it takes three hours to walk. Xiao Huang is my partner. Xiao Huang is my dog. Mountain people like dogs as well as dogs. Every time Xiao Huang always runs in front. It’s thinking about grandma’s rice crust. Grandma loves it. In spring, the mountains are beautiful. There are flowers everywhere, red, pink, white, yellow and interlaced. The road has been running under the shade, and there are always some birds singing in the treetops.. There are always so many birds that are silent. Perhaps in their eyes, this spring is lonely. Through the gaps in the leaves, the sky, as usual, is blue. If you look down carefully, it is not fog that flows through your feet, but clouds in the sky. If you are greedy, there are many wild fruits to eat on the side of the road. The water in the mountains is especially clear, even clear and scary, as if to suck you all in. If not, the fish thought it was just a depression without water. If you want to cross a stream, there will naturally be a bridge. In fact, it is not really a bridge. Is in the middle of the stream, build by laying bricks or stones a few stone piers, and then spread a few boards between the stone piers and stone piers. We call it a plank bridge. Grandma is old and not very stable in walking. Every time I stood at the other end of the bridge, my hands supported the cane made of old trees and vines.. Black silk handkerchief was wrapped around his head, and the wind blew away a few silver hairs. Against the background of black, it became more white and more striking.. Grandma is very old, with only one tooth left in her mouth, her eyes are scattered and turbid, without any brilliance. Just, always laughing. Walking on the wooden bridge, my heart is a little scared. It always makes a quack, quack sound and quivers with my steps.. The bridge is older than my grandmother and younger than me. Stone mounds have been available for a long time, but flash floods occur several times a year, and when flash floods come, they take away the boards. The old boards are gone and new ones are put on. go round and begin again. Repeat, hold on, look forward to. Some old objects are said to have spirituality. I think this wooden bridge is no exception. After a long time, the bridge has its own language and character. Some we can understand, some we are understanding. It is not simply standing, simply allowing people to pass through, and behind it, there are so many feelings. With spirituality, the bridge has life. It witnessed what happened in the mountains. With the mountain people, sad and happy together. The bridge is still there. Perhaps, one day it will collapse, ask, what is more powerful and powerful than falling to explain the glory of life and the meaning of life. Grandma’s house is made of wood, wood house.Not very spacious, but very neat, very quiet. Grandma loves flowers and orchids. There are several pots in the yard. In fact, the mountain people also don’t know what orchids are, as long as they like them, those by the fields, by the streams, in the valleys, and those that look good. Every time I gather and plant flowers, I can live. What I like is not the color of the flowers, the fragrance of the flowers, perhaps, but the ease with which the flowers meet, and the tenacity of the flowers.. A lot of things, I like to talk to grandma. Grandma also likes to listen. Grow up slowly, say more, say more. Remember that year, when the rape flower was yellow, my family gave me a kiss. My heart was uncomfortable and I ran to my grandmother and said. Grandma just started laughing and didn’t tell me what to do. Then, seeing me squirming my mouth, I said,’ Getting married is a big deal. If you want to be clear, like me and my crutches, you need a tacit understanding and a share of each other.. Not that you want to know how much you love each other, but that you want to know what your days together will look like.”. At the moment of grandma, eyes don’t spend, waist also don’t camel. As if she had returned to the past, back to yesterday. Mountain people don’t drink tea, drink cold water, directly from the well. Grandma likes to drink plain boiled water. She often told me that plain boiled water is tasty. It depends on how you taste it. I can’t taste it all the time. It also said that life is like plain boiled water, tasteless and intangible, and if you know how to taste it, you will have a long and pleasant life.. Perhaps, I am silly, anyway, I still don’t understand. Grandma had read a book before, and the landlord’s young lady had a crush on my grandfather somehow.. Listen to my mother, grandma ran out and ran to my grandfather’s house. Grandfather died many years ago, so Grandma has been guarding this courtyard and these orchids. Grandma hurts me very much. Always keep some delicious food for me. Always tell me a lot about life. Grandma also loved her crutches, which were always spotless. Year after year, crutches became smoother and more primitive in her hands.. The crutch supports Grandma, who also touches the crutch all the time. In her eyes, there is a person sitting in the crutch, Grandpa. Now, grandma and grandpa are sitting under the old locust tree. Sleeping, never waking up. Always go and see the locust tree, always cut down the road leading to the graveyard, with fewer people and thorns on both sides of the road.. Without the cover, the road was exposed and reminded me that there were my relatives there. The locust tree blossomed, the wind rose, and the petals slowly fell with the wind, looking from a distance like a group of tired butterflies, quietly gathering up the beautiful moments of life: a thanksgiving, an oath, or a simple sigh.