Prose

Autumn morning, accompanied by the slow fragrance of jasmine tea; In the white smoke of cigarettes; When the first sunshine shone behind me through the balcony glass, I finally finished writing another article.

Put down your mobile phone, stretch, lean back in your chair, close your eyes slightly, enjoy writing articles and savor the comfort of expressing your feelings.

Suddenly, there was a familiar buzz between all kinds of noises outside. This is a pigeon whistle. The pigeon breeder across the street must be releasing pigeons. The voice is so familiar, as if calling. I quickly stood up, walked to the balcony, pushed open the window and looked up for the familiar shadow.

The narrow sky above the two buildings is blue and purple, dotted with three or two white clouds, and the pigeons under the white clouds fly freely. There are about 30 pigeons in this group. They regard these two buildings as runways in the sky, flying around, flying away and flying again.

I don't know if these pigeons are flying proudly like Gorky's petrels, but I know that they must be happy, free and perhaps a little anxious at the moment. Because before long, their owners will call them back to the small house on the opposite roof.

The small house is the home of these pigeons, and I often "peek" at how their owners feed and take care of them.

I like pigeons very much. I have made up my mind many times to raise a group, but the conditions have not been mature, and I am afraid that it will hurt others. Just like the owner of the pigeon on the opposite roof, the property has probably looked for him many times. Building such a big house on the roof must have affected others. The reason why this man hasn't torn down the pigeon's home so far may be because he loves pigeons very much and doesn't want to make them homeless.

Some of my friends in my hometown like raising pigeons very much. Every time we get together, we are happy to talk about pigeons. One or two of them still pretend to be masters and speak well of pigeons. In order to talk with them, I had to try to find a book about raising pigeons, read it carefully and use it to discuss with them.

One of my friends is nicknamed "dove of peace". He is older than me. I can't love pigeons more. At that time, we all lived in the bungalow of the family members' hospital in the mining area, and it was very convenient to raise pigeons. Although his daughter-in-law opposed it, she didn't stop it. But then the shanty towns were transformed, and we all moved to the city and lived in new buildings. It will be troublesome to raise pigeons again. Others are trying to turn the balcony into a kitchen and expand the living space, but he has turned the balcony into a pigeon house. This time, the daughter-in-law of "Dove of Peace" quit. She had a small quarrel for three days and a big quarrel for five days. Then she finished the last course and asked "Dove of Peace" whether he wanted his wife or his pigeon. You can't have it both ways. These two choices make the "dove of peace" really embarrassed and really unable to choose. Later, our brother came to persuade him that pigeons can give up, but the wife is the one who will accompany you to the end.

There is one thing that has made me feel guilty for a long time, and it is also related to pigeons. I can't let it go for a long time. That year, my mother got a strange disease, some similar to asthma, and she was out of breath all the time. I took a leave of absence and took my mother all over the major hospitals, but none of them could be cured. Later, a friend found an old Chinese doctor and gave me a very simple prescription, saying that it was guaranteed to cure my mother's disease. I especially believe in folk remedies, because my family and I have several diseases that are cured and removed by folk remedies.

My friend was very enthusiastic and came with two pigeons in his arms, urging me to do it. The remedy for treating mother is stewed pigeon, which needs to be eaten with soup and meat.

I'm not a good man and a woman, and I don't care much about killing, but I hesitate to look at those two elves. In the end, my love for my mother overcame my love for pigeons, and I was still a killer. I brought a bowl of pigeon soup to my mother with guilt.

Pigeons gave their lives to save my mother. Since then, my mother's illness has really recovered. Until her old man died, the disease did not recur. Since then, my love for pigeons has turned into deep admiration. They really exist like gods in my heart.

I waited for the pigeon to fly over my head again, but I didn't see it for a long time. I must have flown back to their house on the roof.

Maybe it won't be long before this illegally built house will be forcibly demolished, and the pigeons will lose their spacious house. This is the living environment, no different from our life. Nine times out of ten things are not satisfactory. Although we sometimes want to work hard, we can't resist the change of fate. People are like this, so are pigeons. Just let nature take its course and don't care about the constraints and changes of life. You can hibernate, and you will have the opportunity to hover in a specific sky and fly freely like a dove.