"Locust Blossoms Fall on the Old Door Knocker" takes an ancient alley in late spring as the narrative stage, and constructs a memory map intertwined in time and space through the imagery of locust flowers and door knockers. The door knocker is not only a physical existence, but has also become a memory carrier that preserves the steam of the sophora flower cake in childhood and the cinnabar mole of my grandmother. The coincidence of its patina pattern with the fallen flowers is a metaphor for the stubborn protection of the spiritual hometown by traditional utensils. In the process of urbanization, when the stone piers and brick carvings gradually disappeared, the door knockers resisted forgetfulness with a solidified attitude, and the bitter fragrance of the locust flowers and the rustling sound of the handkerchief rubbing against the metal became cultural totems for modern people to look back on their hometown.
