三月前我回了一趟乡下老家,那时麦穗已经半黄,风里有股少女的甜香。我忍不住蹚进齐腰的麦田,仰着迷醉的脸,带着童年的表情,伸展双手,抚摸如针的麦芒,享受手心痒痒的刺痛。接我回家的堂弟媳妇,无奈地尾随,一边嘲笑我的傻气。就这样,走着走着,竟与一座旧坟相遇。一个孤独的黄土堆,无力地趴趴着,上面爬满涩拉秧、节节草。没有墓碑,只有十几棵芦苇在坟边抖擞地站立,像一群瘦弱的士兵。翠绿挺拔的苇秆,碧绿狭长 I went back to the country home three months ago, when wheat ears were half yellow, and there was a sweet girl in the wind. I could not help but trip into the wheat fields waist waist, looked up into a drunken face, with a childhood expression, stretching his hands, stroking the needle of wheat, to enjoy the palm of the hand itching sting. Take my home cousin wife, helpless to trailing, while laughing at me silly. In this way, walked, actually met with an old tomb. A lonely loess heap, unable to lie on the ground, climbing crawling over asylum, section grass. There are no tombstones, only a dozen of reeds standing by the grave bouncing like thin, fledgling soldiers. Green tall and straight reed stalks, green long narrow