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小时候,家是一扇门。门外的草滩树林是我的乐园。掏鸟窝、捉迷藏,玩得天昏地暗。傍晚,在妈妈的唤声中我很不情愿地走进门。躺在柔软的被窝里,聆听妈妈嘴里流淌的歌谣,我的梦像长了翅膀,飞出家门。上学了,家是一口锅。拮据的家境,简朴的生活,唯有这口锅最慷慨最诱人。周六下午是最快活的时光,在镇上住校的我背起空包又能回家去背下一周的干粮。当我走近村口,望见小院屋顶上缕缕炊烟时,家是多么温馨亲切呀。
When I was young, home was a door. The beach outside the grass is my paradise. Dig nest, hide and seek, playing days of darkness. In the evening, I reluctantly entered the mother’s voice. Lying in a soft blanket, listening to the ballad of my mother’s mouth, my dreams grow like wings and fly out of my home. Go to school, home is a pan. Dilemma of the family, simple life, only the most generous most attractive pot. Saturday afternoon is the happiest time, I live in the town of empty bags and go home to carry the dry food next week. When I approached the entrance of the village, I saw the smoke on the roof of a small courtyard, how warm and friendly it is.