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前不久,我回了一趟老屋。泥石板上青了一地苔藓,灰瓦已褪了当初的黛色,葡萄架子散落了一院的荒凉。尽管这样,相对于嘈杂的都市,老屋还是让我有了一个喘息的空间。老屋和江南其他房屋没有多大差别:白墙青瓦,背后盛开着大片的农田,依着山,傍着水。不幸的是,窗的背景却贴着一张不知何时的报纸,仿佛一块补丁,修补着老屋的沧桑。清晨,阳光在窗外舞动着一片光亮,屋内依旧暗暗的,时间就在这样的昏暗中流逝,一张旧报纸仿佛伸手拒
Not long ago, I went back to the old house. Mud on the mud on a green, gray tile has faded the original Dai color, grape shelves scattered desolate hospital. Despite this, compared to the noisy metropolis, the old house or let me have a breathing space. There is not much difference between the old house and other houses in the southern part of the country: the white walls and green tiles are covered with large fields of farmland behind the mountains and the water nearby. Unfortunately, the background of the window was attached to a newspaper I do not know when, as if a patch to repair the vicissitudes of the old house. Early in the morning, the sun shone brightly outside the window, and the interior of the house was still dark. The time passed in such darkness, and an old newspaper seemed to reach out