Several rounds of Lost Dream, rarely seen in the way back home.
At home?
Smoke, hut, river, blue sky ... ... constitute a small village. A small village is small, it is the root of sons forever. Are always out looking for their dream, but forget the way home. Forgotten villages, forget the warm breeze blowing, the lingering kiss ears. Oh, once long-lost villages ah, do you see it again unscarred? Year\'s prodigal son, and now want to return to your arms, do you still willing to accept?
Long on the trail, who would be out in the cold Zhang Yin, \"Kuteng trees faint crow\" do? Bringing a moonlight, who would be right on sighed, \"I raise my eyes to the moon\" do?
I looked at the vast expanse of sky alone, that touch of meniscus is still hanging in the sky, like a childhood dream: remote and there are so clear.
Living in villages, but villages do not feel warm the hearts of the world outside the village have never stopped yearning for. The kind of life is happiness? Pursuit, the pursuit of mind identified by that feeling. Village had become a tied his own cage. Leave, living away from some of the later, hard it is eaten, has also tasted sweet. When I look back, they found that rural areas continue to wait and wait for their children in exile and returned to the embrace of their own. It turned out that rural areas were never abandoned prodigal son.
Tired, right? Tired, right? Go home! However, the house where? In that bustling feasting in either house. But that is not at home. Home is a warm place, is the spiritual sustenance of the return of the problem is always the root of sons. Home exists only in rural areas.
\"On no place like home.\" Village of the Moon is the wandering thoughts of sustenance, but also for the sons guiding beacon. Illuminate the road ahead and purify the hearts of wandering.
Rural always so quiet, so the United States. Forests, rivers, fields, smoke. And then winding country lanes are sufficient wanderer whom Hunqianmengying. Not to mention that blue sky, gentle wind and then the shuttle in the air, the swallows啦!, Of course, guarded her village.
Villages are always wandering the root, wandering is more worried about the village forever. It is look at this generation of people born and brought up to leave, followed by a long wait in the back as their own children and grandchildren. Firmly pull the village more selfless of the wandering heart.
\"I raise my eyes to the moon, bow their heads and think of home.\" Wandering thoughts of the village. Who knows? Who understands? Who to ask? Perhaps the only pair of lines in order to feel homesick tears wandering thoughts.
几番梦中迷途，难寻归家路。
家在何处？
炊烟，茅屋，小河，蓝天……构成了小村。小村不大，却是游子永远的根。总是外出寻找自己的梦想，却忘了回家的路。忘记了乡村，忘记了清风扑面而来的温馨，轻吻耳畔的缠绵。哦，曾经久违的乡村啊，你是否别来无恙？当年的浪子，而今想要重新回到你的怀抱，你还肯接纳吗？
漫漫的古道上，还会有人在寒风中长吟“枯藤老树昏鸦”吗？皎洁的月光下，还会有人对月长叹“举头望明月”吗？
我独自望着那辽阔的苍穹，那一抹弯月依旧挂在天空，似儿时的梦：遥远而有那麽清晰。
身处乡村时，却感觉不到乡村的温馨，心中对乡村外的世界的向往却从不曾停止。那种生活，是幸福吗？追求，为了追求心中所认定的那种感觉。乡村却变成了束缚自己的牢笼。离开，闯荡了一番过后，苦也吃过，甜也尝过。蓦然回首，却发现乡村依然再等待，等待自己流浪在外的孩子，重新回到自己的怀抱。原来，乡村从不曾抛弃浪子。
累了吧？倦了吧？回家吧！可是，家在哪里？在那灯红酒绿的繁华中，有的是房子。但那不是家。家是一个温馨的地方，是心灵寄托的归处，是游子永远的根。家，只存在于乡村。
“月是故乡明。”乡村的月亮是游子思念的寄托，更是为游子指路的灯塔。照亮前方的路，净化游子的心。
乡村总是那样宁静，那样美。树林，小河，田野，炊烟。及那曲折的乡间小道，都足以游子为之魂牵梦萦。更不用说那蓝蓝的天，轻柔的风和那穿梭在空中的燕子啦!当然，还有守护着乡村的她。
乡村是游子永远的根，游子更是乡村永远的牵挂。它看这一代代人的出生，成长，离开，之后又在漫长的等待中迎回自己的儿孙。乡村的无私更加牵牢了游子的心。
“举头望明月，低头思故乡”。游子对乡村的思念。谁知？谁懂？又有谁问？或许，唯有那双行思乡泪才能体会游子的思念。
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