清明节,在烟雨朦胧中走来,犹如逝去的亲人,永不曾远去。多年来,感念最深的还是奶奶。奶奶个头不高,眉清目秀,裹着一双小脚,一身蓝色的大襟衣裳,留给我无尽的记忆。她脸上常常挂着慈祥的微笑,让人打心眼里舒服。年幼的岁月里,爸爸在外地工作,妈妈地里的农活永远忙个没完没了。我们姊妹三个,整天围在奶奶左右,问这问那,像小鸟一样叽叽喳喳说个不停。童年的世界里,夏天无疑是最美丽的。在农村的小庄户子里,没有名贵的百合、玫瑰、牡丹,也没有郁金香,有的是路边红的、紫的、黄的一些叫不上名字的野花,还有村里人种的 Ching Ming Festival, walking in the hazy hazy, like dead loved ones, never gone. Over the years, the deepest feeling is grandmother. Grandmother tall, eyebrows, wrapped in a pair of feet, a blue lapel clothes, leaving me endless memories. Her face often hung a kind smile, people struck a happy eye. In my youth, my father was working in the field and the farm work in my mother’s land was forever running out. We have three sisters, all around my grandmother, asking this question, twittering, like a bird, talking non-stop. Childhood in the world, summer is undoubtedly the most beautiful. There are no precious lilies, roses, peonies or tulips in rural small families. Some are wildflowers with red, purple and yellow names on the streets, as well as ethnic