You often never know what will be left in your memory. Memory has its own storage and screening. Many years have passed, and many things have been forgotten, including those that were unforgettable at the beginning and had a strong impact on their emotions and lives. On the contrary, it is some casual details, fleeting fragments, sedimentation of infiltration time and clear development that strike a chord at a certain moment and spread like ripples. ...

Those oranges form a circle and are quietly placed on the square table. Mature yellow is a little green, and it looks like a group of hazy still life sketches in dim light. The flame of the oil lamp vibrates from time to time, and occasionally a few snuff crackles. Under the light of beans, the shadow of oranges looks like eggs laid by themselves. The table is placed in the corner formed by the granary and the wall. Grandpa can reach for the bottles and jars on the table from the bedside, all of which are his usual medicines-soda tablets, painkillers, kechuanling and so on. Stomach problems in youth and lung diseases caused by long-term smoking have become the biggest threats in later life. However, his whole body is still hale and hearty, and he has the strength to open up wasteland with a spade. He can walk more than ten miles to the county seat with dozens of pounds of bamboo on his back, and he can quickly climb to the Toona sinensis tree with his bare hands to pick the buds.

Grandpa leaned back on the bed and smoked quietly, and Ye Yan sizzled his cheek. This is probably his favorite time after a day's work. The cat crouched meekly on the granary, its cocked tail was magnified by the light and projected on the wall, swinging from side to side from time to time. Grandpa finished smoking and knocked on the ashtray beside the table. The cat seemed frightened, meowing and jumping to the ground, and instantly jumped into the darkness. Grandpa laughed and scolded: dead cat, so timid, no wonder you can't catch mice. He peeled an orange and handed it to me: try it, it was only this year, and it tastes good. Grandfather planted a circle of orange trees on the hillside behind the house. He likes fruit trees. Apricots, peaches, loquats, walnuts, grapes and jujubes are planted around the yard. We can eat fresh fruit all summer, but this orange may be the only one that ripens in late autumn.

I broke off a petal and put it in my mouth. Sour and sweet mixed with * * * taste buds, some teeth are soaked. Does it taste good？ Grandpa asked. I shrink my neck and frown sourly. Grandpa smiled and said, I ate just right. You haven't tasted the real ups and downs at a young age! Does taste have anything to do with age? A question mark popped up in my heart, but I didn't say it. The orange on the table gradually turned into an open orange peel. When the last one was left, grandpa said, keep it for you, and it won't be sour after eating for two days. It is getting late. Go to sleep. Grandpa blew out the lamp in one breath, and darkness surrounded him instantly, like an animal that had been hidden for a long time. The faint starlight diluted the darkness through the shingles on the roof, and the outline of the object was faintly discernible. The sundries piled up in the granary, hoes and hemp fibers hung on the walls, and the smell of oranges still lingered in the air.

Sometimes, sitting alone, the circle of oranges will slowly emerge in your mind, but it doesn't seem to disappear. Time flies for more than 20 years. I've tasted the real ups and downs. Do you think those oranges are as sweet as my grandfather? I don't know. But in their light and shadow, I seem to touch the temperature I once lived in the past.