很多年过去了,故乡的那家铁匠铺像梦境一样时常深入到我内心深处的乡愁里,那淡淡的苍凉和哀愁,让我挥之不去。那猪哥挥舞铁锤的情景历历在目,那叮叮当当的声音还响在耳边。绪哥的爹我喊大爷,大爷姓邱。邱大爷的小锤敲在哪里,猪哥的大铁锤就砸在哪里。二圈哥在那里拉动风箱。火呼呼地燃烧,锤叮当地响着。镰刀、锄头、铁锨等农具摆放在砧子旁边,有时候也打一把菜刀。邱大爷穿着黄色的露着洞洞的围裙。猪哥也 Many years have passed, the home of the blacksmith shop, often like a dream deep into my heart nostalgia, the light desolation and sadness, let me linger. The scene of the pig waving the hammer vividly, then rattled sound still ringing in my ears. My brother’s father and I exclaimed uncle, uncle surnamed Qiu. Qiu uncle’s hammer hit where, pig brother’s big hammer hit where. Two laps pull the bellows there. Burning fire, hammer jingling. Sickles, hoes, iron stirrup and other farm tools placed next to the anvil, and sometimes also hit a kitchen knife. Uncle Qiu wears a yellow apron with a hole in the hole. Pig brother too