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雪花飞舞松枝俏,又是一年吉祥到。抚摸着穿了近二十年的军装,望着雾霭阑珊的天山,倾听来自罗布泊脚下遥远的震颤,不知不觉想起了我的老父亲。那是一个燥热的中午。热浪像恶魔炙烤着大地,吞噬着每个角落,席卷着每个空间。树上的知了叫得让人心烦,使人发躁,父亲端着母亲刚盛的满满的一碗冷饧蹲在了厨房门口(我们那里管冷面叫冷饧,就是刚煮熟的手擀面用刚揠上来的井水投几遍,然后用筷子挑在碗里,和着黄瓜丝、鸡蛋卤、蒜泥、豆角等拌着吃的一种面食)。父亲顺手从桌子上抄
Snow flakes pine branches pretty, but also a year auspicious to. Striped for nearly 20 years wearing a uniform, looking at the dim-torn Tianshan, listening to the trembling from the feet of Lop Nor far away, unwittingly remembered my old father. It was a hot noon. Heat waves like the devil broil the earth, swallowing every corner, sweeping each space. Known on the tree called annoying, impatient, his father carrying a full bowl full of cold mother squatted in front of the kitchen (where we called the cold noodles, just cooked Shou Ganmian surface with just up the well water cast a few times, and then use chopsticks to pick in the bowl, and the cucumber silk, egg Halogen, garlic, beans and other mix to eat a pasta). Father easily copy from the table