每次走过门前的那棵饱经沧桑的老槐树的时候,总会驻足凝听,凝听那曲折而干裂的枝干向我诉说岁月的侵蚀。对那棵老槐树的记忆就如对爷爷的记忆一样清晰。那被七十多个岁月打磨的腰杆,如同这树的主干,总是挺直胸脯,长久地驻守在家门前。那棵树的确很老了。听奶奶说它是爷爷的父亲亲手植下的。起初的树苗是被遗弃的病秧,它的存活太过奇迹。奶奶嫁给爷爷时,那棵树只比奶奶 Every time I walked through the door in front of the vicissitudes of the old acacia tree, always stop listening, listen to the winding twists and turns of the branches told me about the erosion of years. The memory of that old locust tree is just as clear as that of grandpa's memory. It was more than seventy years polished spine, as the tree's trunk, always straight chest, long stationed in front of the house. That tree is really old. Listen to my grandmother said it is grandfather's father personally planted. The initial saplings were abandoned seedlings, its survival is too miraculous. Grandma married grandpa, the tree is only more than grandma