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风渐起,街旁的梧桐渐瘦,一些枯黄的叶子在风中上演着最后的舞蹈……又是秋天了。离开那个村庄的时候,也是秋天,森林般的田野在亮闪闪的镰刀下日渐变得疏朗。随着大片大片的庄稼倒地的声音,我逃离一样头也不回地就走上了通往山外的路。在小城低矮的天空下历经了三十多个春夏秋冬的循环往复后,却突然发觉小城里春与夏与秋与冬的区别仅仅在于男女老少的服装变化而已,于是我更加怀念那个生我养我的村庄,怀念那个村庄里四季不同的景色,怀念村庄里真正的秋天。
The wind is rising, the Indus thinner, some yellow leaves staged the last dance in the wind ... it is autumn. When I left the village, it was autumn, and the forest-like fields gradually became more and more open under the sparkling scythe. With the sound of large tracts of crops falling to the ground, I escaped from the same path without going back to the mountains. Under the low sky in the town, after more than thirty cycles of spring, summer, autumn and winter, I suddenly realized that the difference between spring and summer and autumn and winter in a small town lies only in the changes of clothing for men and women, so I miss the student I raise my village, miss the different seasons in that village, miss the real autumn in the village.