没有云,没有月,几颗孤星熠熠地亮着。夜显得更苍老、悠远和深邃。坐在年久的竹椅上,听着日子嘎嘎吱吱地叹息,望着深沉的夜,老屋飘向那悠长的岁月。犁在耕耘的一瞬间,深埋了冬,播种了春。早早看到的是爷爷那驼背的背影和灰褐色的锄头,爷爷脸上的皱纹就像老屋一样,苍老却充满了慈祥和蔼。爷爷的一生就是这样,为这个家无私地奉献着点点滴 No clouds, no moon, a few lone stars brightly lit. Night is even more old, distant and deep. Sitting in a long bamboo chair, listening to the day sighing creak, looking at the deep night, old house drift to that long years. Plow in the cultivation of the moment, buried deep in the winter, sowing the spring. Early to see is the grandfather that hunchback and taupe hoe, grandfather’s face wrinkles like the old house, old but full of kind and kind. Grandpa’s life is like this, for the family selflessly devoted a little bit