故乡的树£爱晴海之恋

作者:葛安波人气:562更新:2021-07-14 19:45:07

 故乡的树
辗转流年 ,此刻今生,你的身影在夕阳下那巨大的光晕中格外的耀眼 。故乡的树,伴随着生命的情节 ,烙印在流年里。也许此刻之后 ,望着远处的天空,独自怀念。这种怀念,伴随着的是故乡的那株苍老的白杨树 。那株在记忆的光影里婆娑的白杨树 。
黄昏 ,父亲拉着我的手,静静地站在那株高大的白杨树下。至于它是什么时候被什么人种下的,父亲似乎也很难说的清楚。只知道在自己懵懵懂懂的记忆里那株白杨树就一直存在 。在那些个记忆里 ,白杨树已经生长在门前那片明净的池塘边了。
也是每个同样的黄昏,父亲回家后总会牵着年幼的我来到这片树阴下玩。父亲一把抱起咯咯笑的我,从地上捡起了一片浅黄的树叶递到了我的手里 。似乎这就是最好的玩具了。记忆中自己的童年总会有那株白杨树 ,夹着太阳黄昏时柔和的光辉。在我的眸子里晃着,一晃便是整个童年 。
“那时你很调皮,到处乱跑。一天我们不知道你便跑了出去。一不小心就滑到了池塘里 。那时你还很小 ,你握着那株白杨露出地面的树根,才保住了性命。 ”父亲说着,那饱经风霜的脸上露出了欣慰的笑。眸子里闪出兴奋的光芒 。也许白杨树就是我的救命树了 ,当时没有人 ,我就这样抓住白杨树的根悬在岸边哇哇的哭 。父亲听到了我的哭声,忙跑出来拉起了我的手,把我从池塘边拉上来。那一幕幕经父亲的述说不断地闪现在我的眼前。于是 ,白杨树在我的心中便有了灵性 。
那时明灭的水波一圈圈绕进我童年的梦里。故乡的白杨树在奶奶去世前一天夜里,随着风声呜呜的哭着。早起时,父亲帮我穿上我的小夹袄 。我便迫不及待被父亲抱下了床 ,奔向了大门外,静静地看着满地的落叶。那株白杨树的身影倒映在漂满落叶的水塘里。似乎一夜的风声将它折磨得憔悴不堪 。这时的我更加同情起了白杨树。面对着这株白杨树,就像面对着一位被病痛折磨得身体虚弱的老人。
“爸 ,白杨树哭了 。”我说。“这孩子,白杨树咋会哭呢!竟说傻话!”父亲一把拉走了站在白杨树下的我。当我雀跃着跑出小学课堂时,回到家里确看到了奶奶静静地躺在病床上 。她是那么的安详 ,一下子,她的病痛消失了 。我静静地呆在那里。周围的人们忙碌着,泪水渐渐模糊了我的双眼。记忆里是父亲用粗糙的手抹去了我眼角的泪 。而我再去回头看那株白杨树时它那高大的身躯竟也随着我眼里的泪水逐渐扭曲了。
那一年的冬天 ,迎来了第一场雪。那一晚 ,漫天飞舞的雪花随着新土一起埋葬了一份亲情 。那株白杨树要在凛冽的寒风中熬过了。于是我看着寒风中的白杨树便开始同情起来。便把自己的夹袄包裹住了它那掩盖在雪里的根茎 。只记得后来父亲重重的打了我,并帮我穿上了袄抱着我去烤火。看着眼前暖烘烘的火堆,
那一次父亲给我讲故事 ,我赌气似的全然不顾这些。屁股隐隐的痛 。我的目光盯着升腾起来的火星独自发呆。后来不知不觉中,我依偎在父亲的怀里静静睡着了。
流年的速度总是让人不易察觉 。当一群群麻雀在白杨树上跳跃打闹时,我坐上同村的老木匠进城换木料的马车 。我紧紧抱着怀里那褐色的包裹。望着父亲和那株渐行渐远的白杨树独自落泪。车轮深深浅浅的压在黄土上 ,风吹着被车轮碾起的黄土,打着旋儿飞走了 。伴着余晖,夕阳将父亲的侧脸涂上了一层金色。就这样 ,父亲面前的黄土上留下了两道深深浅浅的车辙。延伸向那起伏着的黄土地上 。伴随着父亲的只有那株白杨树。

英译版本:

The tree of hometown
Turning the year, at this moment, your figure is in a huge flare in the sunset. The trees of the hometown are accompanied by the verses of life, and branded in the year. Maybe after this moment, look at the sky in the distance, I miss yourself. This kind of nostalgia is accompanied by the old poplar. The white tree in the mortal light shadow.
Dusk, his father pulled my hand and stood quietly under the tall poplar. As for when it is, the father seems to be clear. I only know that the poplar trees have been existed in my memory. In those memories, Poplar has grown in front of the clear pond in front of the door.
It is also the same dusk. After the father go home, I will always take the young, I came to this tree. When my father picked me, I picked up a pale yellow leaves from the ground to my hand. It seems that this is the best toy. In the memory of your childhood, there will always be the poplar tree, and it is softly glorious. In my scorpion, it is a whole childhood.
"At that time, you touched it. Every day we didn't know if you ran out. If you accidentally slipped to the pond. At that time, you were still very small, you hold the tree of the white boiler. The root will only keep the life. "The father said, it was gratified with the face of the face. The scorpion flashed excited light. Maybe Poplar is my life-saving tree. I didn't have anyone, I grabbed the root of Poop's roots crying on the shore. Wow. My father heard my cry and pulled out my hand and pulled me from the pond. That scene of the father said that I am constantly flashing in front of my eyes. So, Poplar has spirituality in my heart.
The water wave of the milled water waves in my childhood. The poplar of the hometown is crying on the day before the grandmother died, as the wind is crying. When I got up early, my father helped me put on my small clamp. I can't wait to hold the bed by my father, and rushed to the door, quietly looked at the full landlink. The figure of the poplar is reflected in the pond that is full of deciduous leaves. It seems that the wind in the night will get it torture. At this time, I got more sympathy. In the face of this poplar, it is like an old man who is facing a heart that is abandoned by the body.
"Dad, Populus cried." I said. "This childWho will cry! It's stupid! "My father pulled away. I stood under the poplar tree. When I jogged out of elementary school class, I returned to my home to see my grandmother. She was quietly lying on the bed. She is so peaceful, suddenly, Her illness disappeared. I stayed there quietly. The people around them are busy, tears gradually blurred my eyes. The memory is my father with rough hand to tears. And I will go back. When the white poplar, its tall body was also twisted with the tears in my eyes.
The winter of that year, ushered in the first snow. That night, the snowflakes of the sky flying along with the new The earth buried a family. The poplar is going through the cold wind. So I looked at the boar of the boom in the cold wind, and I wrapped my megadage. The root stems in the snow. I only remember that my father was playing me, and I wore me to take me to roast the fire. I looked at the hot bunch of the warm baked,
The father tells me a story I am gambling. I have a fullness of these. My eyes stared at the rising Mars. Later, I didn't know, I was sleeping quietly in my father's arms.
Flow year The speed is always not aware. When a group of sparrows jumped on the poplar tree, I took the old carmith in the same village into the city to change the carriage. I hit the brown package in my arms. I hope The father and the growing poplar are alone. The wheel is deeply shallow, and the wind blows the loess that is crushed by the wheels. It hits the spiral to fly away. With the mix, the sunset will The father's side face painted a layer of gold. In this way, the loess in front of the father left two deep shallow ruts. Extended to the rough loess area. Along with the father's poplar.

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