墙上是斑驳的锈迹,石板上是崎岖的缺口,台阶上是潮湿的青苔,一块一块犹如老人那操劳了大半辈子的粗糙的手。——那就是我的故乡,我故乡的老宅。已掉漆的红色柱子支撑着我家的大门,原是青铜色的大门,现在却已看不出原来的样子,门在阳光下懒懒地半掩着,门上的“福”字经过岁月的流逝,带走了它鲜艳的色彩,只留下泛黄的纸张依旧坚守 The mottled rust on the walls, the rugged cutouts on the slate, the damp moss on the steps, and the rough hands that worked for the rest of my life like an old man. - That is my hometown, my old hometown. The painted red pillar supports the gate of my house, which was originally a bronze door, but now it can not see the original look. The door is lazily half covered in the sunshine. The word “blessing” passes through the door The passage of time, take away its bright colors, leaving only yellowed paper still stick