论文部分内容阅读
抚拨那串由浅褐色豆大的草籽串成的珠串,如同虔诚的僧人捻动佛珠。我怀念着那个愿为我一颗颗将它穿起的老人——我的祖母。翻开泛黄的日记本,上面稚嫩的笔画毫不费力就将我的思绪引向过去:撑起的荷叶伞,无数的彩色小石头,拿软米喂小鸡的小姑娘,扬起的青竹钓竿,宝蓝桃花的拖鞋……那些美好的镜头在那个世外桃源般的小村庄里,挤着一簇簇的小欢喜,那些小欢喜密密麻麻地开在心头,像十月里米黄色的桂花,细细碎碎的,却因那阵阵的香甜,不容忽视,难以忘记。
Stroking the strings of grass seeds, made of light brown beans, stroked the beads like a devout monk. I miss the old man who is willing to wear it for me - my grandmother. Open yellowed diary, above the tender strokes effortlessly will my thoughts lead to the past: hold up the lotus leaf umbrella, countless colored small stones, take the soft-fed chicken little girl, raised Bamboo poles, blue peach flower slippers ... ... those beautiful lens in that paradise-like village, crowded with a bunch of small joy, those little joy densely open in my heart, like October, beige yellow sweet-scented osmanthus, fine Broken, but because of the bursts of sweet, can not be ignored, hard to forget.