the most beautiful time

Chapter 3 The Most Beautiful Time
I often miss those wasted time. They are like shining candies. On the way of my life, with the sweetest taste, they tempt me who is so busy that my soul can't be quiet. I travel back again and again, returning to those Once scolded by parents and teachers, sit on the shore, or linger.

When I was young, I would escape the teacher's class, and go to the orchard next to the school with a few friends, secretly picking apples that had already begun to mature and fragrant.It is often the middle-aged man who guards the garden, chasing after the childcare partner at one end, while I am at the other end, greedily stuffing one after another red apples into the bulging schoolbag.Only when he felt that he could have a good meal, amidst the shouts and scolding of the spectators who realized that he had been fooled, laughed and made a proud face at him far away, and went to meet up with his companions.Many times, those big and red apples will wrinkle the textbooks or leave ugly marks; they will also go home and have diarrhea because of gluttony, and they will be scolded by the adults; I forgot about the exams, and when I got to the classroom, I found that all the stationery in the schoolbag had been thrown on the sunny hillside.

But in the dream, I can't forget the warm sunshine on the hillside, the birds are flying leisurely above the head, their cries startle the grass stems in the quiet lunch break, and the broad leaves of the tung tree spread out like a huge umbrella , to give us half-asleep dreams, to block the dust of the past.That kind of time, sweet, carefree, quiet, bright, is the transparent candy wrapper sandwiched in the book, or the marbles jumping happily on the ground, gently caressed by the sun, and you can hear the jingling sound of the strings being plucked.

I still think about those days when I was sick in bed.It was because I was exhausted at work, and my body developed a disease. I couldn't go on strike, so I had to be admitted to the hospital for recuperation.The nurse on duty has eyebrows and eyes smiling like a crescent moon, and when she calls me to take medicine and injections, she will coax me like a child and say: Be good, be obedient.I will always turn myself into a docile kitten and puppy after these words, and let her give me injections or make cups of bitter Chinese medicine.I am obsessed with the tinkling Tibetan silver bracelet in her wrist, which is the sound of mountain spring water flowing through.I like to watch her shuttle in front of each hospital bed, reminding patients of daily precautions in a soft voice.I can also see a touch of light pink or light blue overflowing from her white nurse's uniform, which is a cute little cotton shirt that she wants to show but can't show.

More often, the ward is so quiet that everyone's breathing and even heartbeat can be heard.I hear the wind blowing through the treetops in spring, and it lifts the hem of some child's coat.There are tireless cleaners who are sweeping the dust in the courtyard. When the broom is across the road, they make rhythmic swishing sounds. This sound is more clear because of the silence of the ward. When you close your eyes, you will Just like the parents who got up early when they were children, they cleaned the snowflakes or fallen leaves that had accumulated overnight.

Knowing that the disease would not go away quickly, he simply forgot about his work.Buying a book that you don’t have time to look at usually becomes the most extravagant enjoyment at that time. Every page of text is reluctant to finish reading, as if flipping through it, such a carefree and happy time will also pass away.If during work, you suddenly have to take up precious time because of other things, then you may feel distressed because of such a waste.But the willful and domineering disease made me use the idle time that I would not be willing to "waste" when I was powerless, and re-place my soul that was running all the way on the track that stretched forward calmly.

How much time in life is worth wasting with such indulgence?Walking along the way, every motto will warn us to cherish time like gold and cherish spring; but when you walk to the end and look back, you will understand that the real kindness to time, many times, It was like a child, wanton waste.Those blurred moments when reading, those laziness in the bed in the morning, those in a daze that no one can understand, those time spent knitting and unraveling the wool, those watching the screen up and down in the movie theater at midnight The voluptuous and blooming loneliness of love, those youthful years of wandering around and not doing business, it is they that connect our mediocre life little by little, and give this life a shining brilliance.

(End of this chapter)