Inadvertently turned over to a few pictures of swallows, they spread their wings in a row like a bean green plum like a willow branch, when the swallow came, the drizzle was full of wind and wind. Just somehow, seeing the swallows, childhood memories are springing up like uncontrollable madness. Listening to the bird's beak outside the window Online Cigarettes, I knew that it was not the sound of the swallow. I moved my fingers, but I still wrote a few words - there is no swallow in the south. I have not seen the swallow for four years. . When I pursued my dream of running a bridge in the south, I have never had a hometown in the spring and autumn. I have never seen the young swallows of the Spring Festival. I still remember that when I came to the willow, there were always three or two swallows. The mud came flying, and the nest was built under the threshold. At this time, my grandmother would look unhappy and said: "You have to clean up for them. You are all dirty under the door." I looked down and couldn't help but smile Newport 100S. Grandma is for them. The excrement is worried! The ground of the cement is not easy to clean, and the grandmother rushes through the water every day and bury it with the soil Carton Of Cigarettes, so it seems not so messy. Once I couldn't help but ask my grandmother, since they are so dirty, why not drive away? Grandma just looked up at the mud and the nests on the threshold. There were already a few small swallows waiting to be fed with a small yellow mouth, anxiously waiting for their father and mother to return. How can I bear to drive these little lives away? This is their home. I continue to ask my grandmother, will the swallows that come every year be the same? Grandma said with a smile, not how the same batch will be in the same place every time! At that time Newport Cigarettes, I seemed to understand and understand, so the swallow is a long-lasting bird! Even now, I still don't know if they are the same batch, but the swallows who play in the yard have drawn traces of flying in their memories. When they can't wipe out the swallows, they are always accompanied by scented flowers. . When I was young, there was a big silk tree in the courtyard. Grandma said that she was planted when she married her grandfather. Whenever the flowers bloom, my brother and I will rush to climb to the wall, and then climb the trunk to pick a bunch of white flowers. The whole spring, the yard of the grandmother��s house is fragrant, breaking into the garden. The fragrance of the heart and spleen melts into every cell of the body. The swallows in the courtyard where the flowers are fragrant are busy foraging. The fireworks are full of steamed buns for us. My brother and I are enjoying the spring sunshine. The squid bun is also sweet to eat, and it is more delicious than any cherished taste in the world, and the small white petals have curled up into a ball, like a cute little shrimp. It was only this rushing flower, after only one or two bun bun, and then rushed to wither, and we waited again for a spring. Only later, the tree grew too lush, covering the sunshine of other dishes in the courtyard, and it was only cut and sold. From then on, it is no longer possible to eat the flowers of the family. The spring in the south is not so prominent, as if the winter from the cold wind has turned into a hot summer, which makes the spring of my hometown even more valuable. In April, I finally had the privilege of returning home in the spring. When the spring sunshine sprinkled on me, a thick nostalgic situation rushed out. It is not the faint mourning of the poet who is studying abroad. It is not the hardship and helplessness of leaving the country, but finally the feeling of ecstasy and joy in the spring of his hometown. If the spring in the south is gentle as water, the spring of the hometown is warm as the sun. I saw, in addition to the whistling swallows, the white flowers like the snow, the catkins flying in the sky, the golden money, the tender buds, and the noisy little sparrows. After reading the poems of the ancients, they know that most of them put the image of catkins on the feelings of acacia or wandering. "Liu" and "remaining" homophonic, or fold the willows to send to rely on farewell, or v. drifting without any bitterness, or satirizing its light and thin rootless water, or see the city full of wind, leisurely a few. But for me, the catkins are free, elegant, and they are light and beautiful, dancing with the wind, without any restraint, swaying, and not only an elegant. The catkins, together with the three planropped up my memories of the whole spring. The picture of the swallow caused too many memories. The messy ideas came from overwhelming. Now I want to come, the swallow is a migratory bird, the reason why winter is Flying to the south, one is warm, and the other is that there are worms to fill the hunger. It seems that the South is not without swallows. What is not in the South is just the spring of the hometown Marlboro Lights. I dialed my grandmother's phone and wanted to talk about the fun things when I was young, but for a long time no one picked them up. I think that spring is a busy season, and my grandmother should plant vegetables in the small vegetable garden.