每次放学,夕阳西下。我见到他推着自行车,捧着一叠作业本从楼道里走过。他坚实而微驼的背影与那斑驳的白墙相映衬,如归巢的鸟儿互相应和,构成一幅动人的图画。他的头上顶着几丝雪花,鼻梁上架着一副老花眼镜,手上布满了蜘蛛网纹,看上去只是一个平凡的老人。作为文学社的指导老师,他最年长,却平易近人。他的字写得端正漂亮,我们好几次央求他教我们写字。一次得空暇,他请同学上台手把手地教他 Every time after school, sunset. I saw him pushing a bicycle, holding a stack of homework from the corridor. His solid, slightly camelized silhouette is against the mottled white wall, and the homing birds meet each other to form a moving picture. He wore a few snowflakes on his head, a pair of presbyopic glasses on his nose, spider webs in his hands, and an ordinary old man. As a literary club’s mentor, he is the oldest, yet approachable. His words are well-written, and on several occasions we begged him to teach us to write. Once free time, he asked the classmates to teach him