上午打扫卫生,从书橱里翻出一大包信来。抚摸着那一张张发黄的信纸,我似乎触摸到了逝去的岁月,过去写信时光的点点滴滴又浮现在眼前。上世纪八十年代,电话还是稀罕物,信件自然是倾诉思念的最好载体。我写信喜欢觅一处相对独立的空间,或树林里、或小山上、或烈士墓前,甚至打个手电猫在被窝里。写信,那可是郑重的事,铺开信纸,咬着笔头,字斟句酌,惟恐有什么话漏下了,有什么话直白了,或者有什么话要喊出来……有时洋洋洒洒一写就是几页。 Clean up in the morning, pulls out a big letter from the bookcase. Stroking the piece of yellow paper, I seem to touch the passing years, the past bit by bit in the letter and emerge in front of us. The eighties of last century, the phone is a rarity, letters are naturally the best carrier talk to miss. I write like to seek a relatively independent space, or in the woods, or on the hill, or the martyr tomb, and even make a flashlight cat in the blanket. Write a letter, it is a serious matter, spread out the stationery, bit his head, word carefully, lest any words leaked, what is straightforward, or what words to shout out ... ... sometimes eloquent write is a few pages .