那一年年冒出来的,恰是相同却又不断变化品种的绿,土地给我的东西,那连接血肉的酸甜苦辣的质感,是我无法言喻的。村子周围都是大山,村民和大山抢占地盘,就在山脚,坡顶,谷底,凡可开垦的地方,蚯蚓一样拱过去。山被农人画出很斑斓的纹理,方形的一片玉米,椭圆的一片油葵。再涂上色彩吧,黄的清新,绿的浓烈。我在山旮旯里长大,和所有的禾苗一起呼吸,生长,抵抗着冰雹寒霜,满身粘着庄稼的草腥味儿和汗水味儿。手提竹篮挖菜的时候,我选择河谷边的 That year comes out, it is the same but constantly changing varieties of green, land to me, that the flesh and blood of the texture, I can not speak of. The village is surrounded by mountains, villagers and mountains to seize the site, at the foot of the hill, the top of the valley, the bottom, where reclamation, earthworms like arch over. Hill was painted a very colorful texture of farmers, a square corn, oval sunflower. Then color it, yellow fresh, green and strong. I grew up in the mountains, breathing and growing with all the grasses, against hail frost, grassy and sweaty smells of crops. Portable bamboo basket to dig vegetables, I choose the edge of the valley