How sentimental yet peaceful I was whenever the image of my hometown swam into my mind. Our ancient adobe house stood in a valley of the vast exuberant mountains, stood there ever since 1960s, lonely and lost. It is a tranquil and peaceful place where I spent my innocent and thoughtless childhood, happy and boundless. How exhilarating and freely I was running in the rice field fresh from harvest in the golden autumn. The flowing stream meandered from deep of the mountains, gurgling happily ever since time immemorial, I was playing water and catching fish so happily in the stream.
I do remember the first time I was leaving the village, I rose up early when the day was still dark in order to catch the first bus, gloomy mountains witnessed my departure, witnessed also my suspension of heading to the unknown, to the daunting city, and to the blue obscurity of the future. Almost 20 years past since then, in this country far far away, my hometown still attracted me, drawing me closer than ever. Reminiscence of the timeless mountains, gurgling flowing river, tranquil rice field, soughing wind through the lush bamboos, morning sun swimming into the sea of sky, white cloud in strange forms scurrying here and there, even the frightening world-splitting thunder, have the magic power of consoling my mind in moment of chaos and turbulence, leading me to a world of peace and bliss.
I do miss you, hometown.
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