The Old Locust Tree in My Hometown

Autumn, 1997. The wind in the Hexi Corridor is always strong. The wind blew the yellow sand across the bare loess slopes and scraped against people's faces, like fine sandpaper rubbing the flesh. The sky is a dull gray-blue, low above Mengjia'ao. The Qilian Mountains in the distance are covered with a layer of white fog, and the barren mountains are continuous, with no trace of green in sight. There is an old locust tree standing at the entrance of the village. The tree is thick and thick, and the bark is as chapped as the calluses on an old man's hands. The branches stretch crookedly towards the sky. Most of the leaves have turned yellow. They are blown by the autumn wind and fall rustlingly. The withered yellow leaves cover the loess road under the tree.