去年的冬天来得格外迟,外婆门前那棵外公亲手种下的腊梅,等不到它的寒风,便只含着满满的思念,撑着要胀破的花苞,就这样凝在了空气里。这样的日子里,我独自去看外婆。犹记得我还小时,外婆也还一头青丝的时候,那树满树摇香的模样。外婆总要爬上梅树,摘花下来,外公总在树下张着双臂,随外婆的身影晃动,外婆的目光从叶间疏漏下来到他脸上,似水流泻。父母曾多次劝两个老人说这样很危险,可他们却自得其乐地成了习惯,倒是我们,毫不 Late last year’s winter is particularly late, grandmother in front of the grandpa in the hands of the kind planted by the plum, it can not wait for the cold, it contains only full of thoughts, propped to bulging broken bud, so condensing in the air in. In such days, I went to see my grandmother alone. I still remember when I was young, my grandmother was still a black hair, the tree looks like shame. Grandmother always want to climb the plum tree, picked flowers, my grandfather always with arms under the tree, with the shadow of grandmother shaking, grandmother’s eyes from the leaves to his face, shed. Parents have advised many elderly people on many occasions that they are so dangerous. However, they have become well-deserved pleasure, not us.