挂在门楣上的粽叶已经变成了灰褐色。风飒飒地吹着那捆粽叶。祖母坐在门槛上,注视着檐下的雨水像小瀑布一样跌落下来,汇在石子路上,匆匆忙忙。春天,祖母挎着竹篮走过横七竖八的村弄,去五里外的白羊湖边采青粽叶。我跟着她。我们站在湖边望着四处可见的苇丛,然后赤脚涉过一片浅水,走进最南面那丛芦苇里。祖母喜欢这里的粽叶。“这水里有小青蛇,我看见 Hanging in the lintel on the Zongye has become a taupe. The wind blew that bundle of bamboo leaves. Sitting on the threshold, my grandmother watched the rain fall under the eaves like a small waterfall, sink in the gravel road, in a hurry. Spring, the grandmother left the basket with bamboo basket across the village to get rid of, go to five miles outside the White sheep Lake Green mining Zongye. I followed her. We stood by the lake watching the reeds visible everywhere, and then barefoot covered a shallow water, into the southernmost reed. Grandmother likes the dumplings here. ”There is a small snake in the water, I see