一走在田野上。灰赭的大地上还残留着麦子拔节生长的余温,赤脚漫步其上,竟不似想象中的那般扎人。土壤湿润而黏腻的质感包裹着肌肤,趾缝间沾满了细细碎碎的渣块,摩挲着,有些痒。又想起了童年的往事。彼时正是6月,原野上已经不见了翻滚的麦浪,庄稼们已一茬茬一捆捆,被推着扛着抱着,涌入了各自的院落。只有蟋蟀在田埂旁的叶 A walk in the field. On the ground of the gray ocher, there is still residual temperature of the wheat growing on the ground, walking barefoot on it, but it does not look as if it is imagined. Moist and sticky texture of the soil wrapped in the skin, toe stitches covered with finely divided clumps, friction with some, itchy. Also remembered childhood memories. It was then in June that the tumultuous waves of wheat had disappeared from the fields, and the crops had been stubbled in bundles, carried by their bodies and pushed into their respective courtyards. Only the leaves of crickets beside the fields