Why do some memories have colors and some memories are black and white?

If the memory has the color of the orange, it is mottled.

I remember reading the article before, memory will identify, screenshot a certain fragment, and then combine and process it into the chapter you want.

I remember that before I went to junior high school, I was ignorant and ignorant and had no learning memory, and the fragments of my memory were all working in the fields, and cotton needed to be seedled, watered, sealed and rooted, weeded, pinched, sprayed, picked, plucked, and dried cotton. When spraying pesticides, I had to carry buckets of water to the fields, then catch the visible insects on the cotton, wrap the insects in two cotton leaves, and strangle them. Or pull weeds, and the weeds in the field don't seem to be clean.

The eyes are full of green, walking on the field path, stepping on the grass and rubbing the sound, and on both sides are crops that are taller than people. Well, it's green, at least until junior high school, and the memories are all green.

Later, I fell in love with Guo Xiaosi, liked the camphor tree he wrote, liked the sunlight through the leaves of the camphor tree, the gray alley before the summer solstice, the hanging paintings hanging on the wall when the Sanmao Sahara Desert was moved into the house, and the earthy gray of the cover of the siege, it can be said that these books ran through the entire youth. Later, when I went to college and came to the south, I realized that the fragments of life that I had once taken for granted seemed strange to others, and I also felt very strange about the same things that others took for granted. In my memory of cotton, my classmates in Shanxi will ask me, after the cotton blooms, won't it be blown away by the wind?

The leaves of the camphor tree have not been seen in the entire junior high school and high school days at that time, and the back of the camphor tree riding under the small four pen has been imagined, and then I saw a camphor tree in the south that a person can't hold in his arms, wow, it turns out that this is the scene that was imagined countless times at that time, and Guo Jingming's era has finally passed. Now I don't dare to read the book I liked at the time again, so I can't seal the fragments of my memory. I don't like that kind of youth books anymore, and I don't feel the need to amplify my irrelevant emotions.

After the later work, I realized the freedom to buy books, and I fell in love with the Mediterranean style with the maritime flavor written by foreign authors, and the blue mood in "The Island", so much so that I imagined that I would go on a trip, feel the scenery of the Mediterranean coast, see the streets of that city, and sit on the corner and drink a cup of coffee. There is also the silence and beauty of the snow country, as well as the green lawn and Greek street signs in the village on the way to run. There is also the echo of the mountains of Hosseini, the mysterious Afghanistan.

All the memories are mottled in series, forming a string of footprints to record the trajectory of life.