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不知从什么时候开始,“故乡”两个字的含义已经变成春运期间千辛万苦抢到的那张薄薄的火车票,背后却是沉甸甸的乡愁。我的故乡是在重庆的一个小村庄里,整个村庄只有一家小卖部,那是我孩童时期的天堂。人们会将煤炭糊在墙外备用,不算肥沃的土地中耕种了一家人的希望,村口的小溪一年四季流淌着清澈的溪水,夜晚纳凉的老头儿在葡萄架下扇着蒲扇给膝下的顽童讲述着各种传奇的故事。
I do not know when to start, “Hometown ” The meaning of the word has become a lot of hard won during the Spring Festival that thin train ticket, behind it is a heavy nostalgia. My hometown is in a small village in Chongqing, where there is only one canteen in my village. It was my childhood paradise. People will paste the coal out of the wall for spare, not fertile land to cultivate the hope of one family, the creek brook flows through the clear streams throughout the year, the cool old man at night under the vine shelf fan to the knees The urchin tells the story of all kinds of legends.