电话中母亲告诉我,请人段了一盘新石磨。我无语。母亲的一句话,如同一把锋利的刀子捅破了包裹着我记忆的那层薄纱。一晃,离家十年了。十年的他乡生活,淡去了一些事,却也浓烈了一些事。淡去的是“跃出农门”的那份荣耀;浓烈的是亲情。是啊!浓烈的亲情无论何时、无论何地,都錾子般錾着我的心坎。每一錾子都錾出一道道深深地痕迹,每一錾子都錾出一幕幕记忆中的点点滴滴。朦胧中,灶房里那熟悉的推磨声,唤醒了梦中的 Mother told me on the phone, please paragraph of a new stone mill. I’m speechless. Mother’s words, like a sharp knife pierced the layer that wrapped my memory. Flash, leave home for ten years. Ten years of hometown life, faded some things, but also a number of strong things. Fade is “jump out of farming door ” share of glory; strong is affection. Yeah! Strong affection no matter when, no matter where, are ugly like my heart. Each pricker is a trace of a deep road, every prickly heat out of the scenes in the memory of bits and pieces. Misty, stove that familiar push shouts, awakened the dream