Familiar scene, familiar taste... Sunshine sprinkles all over the body, a bicycle, shuttle in the tree lined path. Green leaves, luster hit just good, clear texture, reflected in the round rolling dew has no time to fade. The last drop of crystal is like a mirror. The figure of the backpack boy on the bicycle is far and near in this concave and convex surface. Like a story, it seems that there is a picture of a thousand words to be told, but it suddenly stops in the strong aroma of coffee on the lips. Through the rising heat, every sip is an old melody.
The smell of spring is so warm. Everywhere, the fresh green is still beating the beat of life. And that far away years of youth gradually condense, condense into a black and white sketch, simply outline the background color in memory. The colorful colors of the past, in the hands of the full Yang coffee has been a brush with, only the shoulder bag of the youth shoulder, rich black, from the past to the present, has been staying.
Perhaps this never fade black is the only familiar to grasp. From familiarity to habit, it's natural and habitual. How many days and nights of company, inseparable, all the way loaded with heavy memories, with so far.
I've forgotten the title of the first book I've loaded with it, but I still remember clearly how I felt when I carried it on my back for the first time. Child like joy, just for the novelty of tomorrow, the pace is also as light as the wind. In the black-and-white film, it was packed tightly again and again. Sometimes with the expectation of joy, more is a heavy burden under the long sigh. Innumerable residents come and go, after all, just meet by chance, even after the unforgettable, really can leave a soul stirring feeling of just a few. But why not? Under the black mask, it has to read thousands of sails all the time. Even if it is not convinced, it will not refuse to come. At most, it will make the sigh under its body longer. In this way, a stack of base into a continuous memory, with the curved back slowly become straight, close to the shoulder from thin gradually become thick. Its existence is no longer dark to be crammed into the desk, but like the wind to follow the steps of young people, free to move forward. No longer dull to huff and puff, but learn to use vision to measure, measure the vast world, clear four seasons, different scenery.
Surrounded by sweat, it ascends the towering mountain top and looks at the smooth river in the steaming clouds; Spring rain is like crisp, it takes advantage of the fun to see the grass in the misty rain; The southern sea breeze blowing, it quietly took away the spray on the beach; The warm sun in winter quietly absorbs the historical mottle in the ancient city. Leisure and wealth, rather this is the mark of its growth. Once the sun and rain cast a uninhibited soul living in an empty bag. Finally, along with the progress, I feel relieved and release the shackles of following suit, in exchange for a more distant heaven and earth.
The backpack, which seems never to get old, still has a familiar atmosphere. Perhaps this is its inherent brand, and it will never be forgotten. And this breath clearly has the taste of sunshine, so warm, so sincere, more sober than the mouth of coffee. It is destined to accompany the youth in the memory to run to the next shady intersection.
