那年春节有点装模作样地寒冷。风夹着雪花辛苦了一夜之后,十里村就铺了层棉絮般的白。大年初三一大早,篾老大骑跨在村东的桥栏上,歪头瞅着桥头的儿子。他腰里扎条红围巾,白雪地里闪出一撮耀眼的红。几个小孩子远远瞅着耍猴般的篾老大,张嘴嘿嘿地笑。刀子一样的寒风在篾老大脸上蹭来蹭去,磨刀的声响起伏着传到他耳边,嘶嘶地响。 That year the Spring Festival a bit modest cold. After the wind struggled with snowflakes overnight, Shili village was paved with layers of cotton-like white. In early New Year’s Day early Wednesday, the elder brother ride across the bridge in the village east of the bridge, tilted his head looking at the bridgehead son. He was wearing a red scarf around his waist and a red glitter of red in the snow. Several children are far from watching the monkey-like boss, mouth Hey smile. The same cold as the knife rubbing against the boss face rub, the sound of sharpening his ears, hissing ring.