想起我家的老屋,一缕亲情、几分感动、一些温馨涌上心头。我家的老屋,石头墙黄泥皮稻草顶,点点星星、影影绰绰闪现在参差不齐的老树中,有些低矮,有些斑驳,有些陈旧,却倍感亲切。一条石街弯弯曲曲连起我家那三间老屋。一棵不算高大的梧桐,一棵刻满沧桑的圆枣,相依这三间老屋。清晨,鸡鸣犬吠,晨雾弥漫,娘和老屋一起在睡梦中醒来。娘是一个爱清洁的人,先洒水,等老屋的地面湿润了,抄起笤帚开始清扫,不一会儿,一股湿湿的尘土气息袭来;又一会儿,几缕阳光透过斑驳的树梢照到老屋里,老屋里 Think of my house, a ray of affection, somewhat touched, some warm in my heart. The old house of my family, the yellow clay wall of stone walls, a little bit of stars, the shadow of the old trees flashing uneven, some low, some mottled, some old, but feel more cordial. A stone street curled up with my home that three old houses. A not tall sycamore, a circle covered with vicissitudes dates, depending on the three old houses. In the early morning, cock barks, foggy morning, mother and old house wake up in their sleep. Mother is a love of clean people, first sprinkle water, so wet the ground of the old house, picked up the broom began to clean, and soon, a damp atmosphere of dust hit; while a few rays of sunshine through the mottled tree Shoot according to the old house, the old house