一柄锄头是没有多少历史的。它不过是天地间与泥土打交道的农具,并没有太多辉煌,只是在被高高举起的刹那,越过不可一世的太阳,进入我的眼中。我想再也没有什么能比那一柄锄头更普通,却也没有什么比它有更久的历史。农忙的时候,它被人握在手里,亲吻泥土,亲吻大地,用瘦弱的躯体去开辟生命的源头;闲暇的时候,它仿佛是一位睿智的老者,长长的锄把像是枯瘦的胡须,牵动岁月的痕迹,然后被人们高高挂起,这或许就是它一生的命运。 A hoe is not much history. It is nothing more than a tool for dealing with the soil between heaven and earth, and there is not much brilliance. It is only in the moment when it is lifted up and crossed the unsurpassed sun into my eyes. I think there is nothing more common than a hoe, but nothing has a longer history than it. When busy, it was held in his hand, kissing the earth, kissing the earth, with the thin body to open up the source of life; leisure time, it seems like a wise old man, a long hoe like skinny Beards, traces of the years, and then be suspended from the people, this may be the fate of its life.