In April and May of my fifth grade year, the apple tree at the door bloomed.
In residential buildings built in the 1980s and 1990s, passers-by could clearly see the furnishings in the aisles on each floor. It seems that no one in the neighborhood avoids it, and even the trees planted in the backyard of the previous building extend to our building. The low wall built in front of the house can be used as nothingness, and a child can step on it by stepping on the mound of dirt. There was an apple tree in the yard. When I was a child, I would pick apple blossoms every year, put the petals into an empty milk glass bottle, fill half of the flowers with water, and then fill the bottle with water. It was called "making wine".
That day, just like that time in previous years, there were many bees, many of them hidden among the flower stamens. Unfortunately, when I uncovered one, there was a "buzzing" sound immediately. I avoided the bees approaching me, so exaggerated that I covered my face and kept spinning in place.
After a while, the bees left. I rested with my back to the apple tree, raised the glass vase high, and counted the number of flowers in the vase under the sunlight. The glass bottle was glowing with sunlight, which made me squint. Looking through the wall of the bottle in a daze, the bottle vaguely frames a person leaning on the railing upstairs.
I slowly moved the bottle to the right and got a clearer view of the man's face. He didn't seem to have time to look away, and my eyes suddenly collided with his. When I was confused, he suddenly laughed.
The delicate face and smiling eyes were like nothing I had ever seen before. I was fascinated by it, and soon I came back to my senses, and hurriedly ran to hide under the eaves.
He is probably the child of the new tenant upstairs that grandma mentioned.
Intention: When we are young, we are flashy and practical, and we must have the courage to miss and meet without stopping.