深秋时节,故乡的老屋,也如纷飞的落叶,开始飘浮在记忆的水面,触动它,如触动一卷黑白胶片,一张张自动回放。时而清晰时而模糊。只是,我再也回不到那里。老屋,盛载了我几乎整个童年的记忆。老屋坐落在村子当街的斜坡上。从我有记忆起,老屋就是那个样子:混砖的土坯瓦房,大约一米红砖的基,上部全是用混了麦草的土坯垒成,青的瓦封顶。三间朝南的正房,一间西厢房,一间紧挨着西厢房的伙房。老屋曾经是母亲的骄傲:红的砖,青的瓦,一度成为过村里人眼热的标志。 Autumn season, hometown of old houses, such as falling leaves, began to float in the memory of the water, touch it, such as touching a roll of black and white film, one by one automatically playback. Sometimes clear and sometimes blurred. Only, I can not get there again. The old house, filled with almost my childhood memories. The old house is located on the slope of the village street. From my memory, the old house is what it looks like: mixed brick adobe house, about one meter red brick base, the upper part is mixed with wheat straw adobe basement, green roof. Three south-facing main room, a West Wing, a room next to the West Wing. The old house was once the pride of the mother: red brick, green tile, once the village has become a hot eye for human signs.