列车在疾驰。为了求学,这趟往返于家乡与省城之间的火车我已经不知乘坐过多少次。车窗外,依旧是那熟悉的村庄与农田。忽然,我的视线被土地上一小块极为鲜艳的色彩牵引了去,那是什么呢?哦,是坟冢,是农家人的坟冢,是清明节刚刚被祭拜过的坟冢。这坟冢让我想起了妈妈的外婆,我的太婆,一个裹着小脚的旧中国妇女。此刻,在千万里之外的山东农村,她也同样安睡在自家的那片农田里。 The train is galloping In order to study, this trip to and from the hometown and the provincial capital of the train I do not know how many times take. Outside the car window, it is still the familiar village and farmland. Suddenly, my sight was drawn by a very, very vivid color of the earth. What was it? Well, it was a grave, a grave of a peasant family, and a grave that had just been worshiped by the Ching Ming Festival. This mound reminds me of my mother’s grandmother, my wife, an old Chinese woman with little feet. At the moment, in the rural areas of Shandong thousands of miles away, she also slept in her own farmland.