一父亲从来不会表达对土地的感情,他只会用一张黯淡的犁铧,日复一日地翻阅着沉重的时光。弯弯曲曲的田塍,是父亲走过的路,也是他模糊的人生。他踩着车前草、半枝莲、荠荠菜和蒲公英,踩着二十四节令的脚印,一步一步向前走,用长满老茧的双手,编织着庄稼的故事。划开的土地上,那些露珠、汗珠和红色的种子,在风中灿烂地生长。不久,田地里就有了绿色,有了蝈蝈,还有了鸟儿的啼鸣。我不敢走进八月的田野。高粱的每一次 A father never expressed his affection for the land, he would only use a dull plowshare, day after day reading the heavy time. Curvy fields, is the way his father traveled, but also his vague life. He stepped on the grass, Scutellaria barbata, Shepherd’s purse and dandelion, stepping on the footprints of 24 orders, walking forward step by step, knitting the story of the crop with hands full of calluses. On the open land, dewdrops, sweat beads and red seeds grow splendidly in the wind. Soon, there is green in the field, with stagger, and the birds singing. I am afraid to go into the field in August. Sorghum every time