Sugar roasted chestnuts

Remember, when I grew a chestnut tree at my sister's house, which was not far from home, every spring, when the chestnut flower was blooming, it was the worst time that I felt that the flower smelled so bad, that a whole village could smell it, and when after a spring, when the chestnuts matured, or when we were the ones who used to scold the fragrances the most, the cat picked it under the tree and blew up the twigs. Now that my aunt's chestnut tree is gone, and the love of celibacy hasn't changed, and once in a while looking at this luminous little thing, it's not so hard to remember the cedars of my happy childhood when I scolded them。