翻开书,一张剪纸悄然飘落。拾起,熟悉的气息敲击着我的心灵。泪落下来,剪纸湿了。石板小路上,是低矮的瓦房,黑黑的瓦,斑驳的墙,翠绿的吊兰叶子掩映着小巷。车轱辘在青石板上碾过,“吱呀”地唱响在这一条绵长的小巷。黄昏时分,落日的余晖为这一切镀上了金色的光芒。那条狭窄而又幽长的小巷,似乎一直都是这样,从未变过。走在放学的路上,我总是要经过七爷的家门口。每当这时,我就会蹲在一旁,安安静静地看七爷剪纸,一看就是很久。 Open the book, a paper-cut quietly falling. Pick up, familiar atmosphere knocking on my heart. Tears fall, paper-cut wet. Stone path, is the low tile-roofed, black tiles, mottled walls, green leaves of Chlorophyt mask alley. Car wheels rolling over the quartzite, “squeak ” to sing in this long alley. At dusk, the glow of the setting sun shines golden on it all. The narrow and secluded alley seemed to always be like this, never changed. Walking on the way to school, I always go through the door of Qiye. Whenever this time, I will squat aside, quietly see Seventh paper-cut, a look is a long time.