One week ago, I came back to my hometown, a place I visited 3 years before. Since I moved to live in the city when i was at such a young age, about 3 or 4, that the figures of the local people gradually became slurred in my mind, that almost all my good friends with whom I often play were from city, that whenever my father asked me to accompany with him and mother to visit the relatives there, I often felt reluctant to come back to this place where there were so many local people I didn't know. And it is also because I only came back there with such a low frequency that I even didn't remember the kids' name there, that an invisible wall between the kids there and me that prevents us from getting to know each other better was erected and I often found myself speechless whenever I tried to talk to them. " you are supposed to know them." my father often said this to me. " They are also very friendly, they all know you are my son, it is only you who don't know them".
    "Really?" I doubted about it. Later, I walked along the stone-paved narrow road near a fishing pool. It is not a big pool, owned by a local people. Standing upon this road, you can see the fish in the clear water. At the end of the road, there is an old pine with exuberant green leaves near a small temple built on a massive rock. Dozens of birds are twittering on the twigs of the tree as if they are chorusing a beautiful song. Seen from the right of the temple, the seemingly endless cornfields extend to the other side of the steep mountain, under the clear blue sky and the brilliantly-shining sun. What a beautiful sight! Perhaps that is the so-call gentle peace of living.  I still recall 3 year ago I took a snatch in the stone seat under the shadow of the old pine. "Well, things haven't changed", I said to myself.....
     Shortly after a boy and a girl walked toward me....