Recently, I often recall some fragments of childhood memories.
It feels like a series of movie scenes, viewing one's childhood from a third-person perspective. It's like a reconstruction of memory, but it's not quite clear whether it's a real memory or an imagined one.
There is a scene that seems like I was sitting on the edge of a bungalow (the place in my own yard in the northern countryside where I dry grains in summer, which is relatively high), blowing bubbles with a wheat straw dipped in soapy water.
A clear sky in the picture. There are few clouds and the sunlight is very dazzling. I held my head high, with a wheat stalk in my mouth, and blew slowly. A soap bubble gradually grew larger from one end of the straw, so big that it blocked my view. Through the sunlight, I could see that there were many colors inside the bubble, colorful and constantly changing. It was particularly beautiful and dreamy.
With a cautious shake, the bubble detached from the straw and slowly floated upwards. When the gentle breeze blew, it flew higher and higher, farther and farther, and then gradually disappeared from sight... Disappear into the blue sky.
