炊烟绵绵,来自乡村的深处,朴素,温暖而又芳香,在千里之外游子的心房蜿蜒着,逶迤着,像一条淡蓝的丝带,拉扯住乡村的暖,熏潮眼睛,点亮脸庞,感动惆怅成默默的念想和不变的坚守。乡村的炊烟,总和日出日落有关。没有风的时候,一束束炊烟像一个个浓墨重彩的感叹号,成为村庄的标点;而黄昏有风的时候,袅袅的炊烟如同起舞的曼妙女郎,轻盈,多姿,悄悄地穿过林梢,飘入无法忘怀的记忆。我一直怀念炊烟,远离了乡村的炊烟,我的生命如同一条断流的河,一块荒芜的田。只有炊烟,以及村里那些与炊烟站在 Smoke from the depths of the village, simple, warm and fragrant, wandering thousands of miles away in the atrium meandering meandering, like a light blue ribbon, pulling the warmth of the village, smoked tide eyes, light face , Moved melancholy into silent thoughts and unchanged adherence. Country smoke, the sum of sunrise and sunset. When there is no wind, a bouquet of cooking smoke like a thick and colorful exclamation point, become the punctuation of the village; and evening when the wind, the curl of smoke like a dancing graceful girl, light, multicolored, quietly through the forest, floating Into unforgettable memories. I always miss the smoke, away from the country’s smoke, my life is like a river, a deserted fields. Only smoke, and those in the village stood with smoke