那是一个夜晚,山风在小山坳里吹着,风扫叶落,一个个黑影缓慢而又安静的沉入土地。行人踏过,听得见破碎的声响。远处,烟气夹着哀乐弥漫开来,人声嘈杂,庄稼人的脸在火光的映照下显得黑红。月光太淡,冲不散连缀的黑云。祖母死了,今夜是白日葬礼的延续。按照惯例,下葬前的头一夜是不能睡的,父亲请了办丧事的班 It was a night, the mountain breeze blowing in the col, swept away, slowly and quietly sinking into the land one by one shadow. Pedestrians stepped on, can hear the sound of broken. In the distance, the fumes filled the sorrows and fumes, the voices were noisy and the faces of the croplings looked black and red under the flare. Moonlight is too light, red clouds are not scattered. My grandmother is dead, Tonight is a continuation of the day’s funeral. By convention, the first night before the funeral was incapable of sleeping, and my father invited a class to do a funeral