床上躺着的是一具已失去生命表征的形体。屋外八月末炙热的阳光也照不暖她,自然,生命中曾经历过的雨雪再也冰冷不了她。她如一只老去的蚕,瘦得只剩一张壳。而壳里曾经鲜活过的血肉早已抽丝剥茧,一层层消耗在逐年苍老的岁月中。此刻,她安静地躺在一张低矮的木架子小床上,头上罩着一条雪白的毛巾,身上严严实实地罩着一条陈旧的红底白花的毛毯,上面的短绒逐渐脱落成 Lying on the bed is a body that has lost the character of life. Outdoor hot sun at the end of August also according to her warm, naturally, life has never experienced snow and ice can no longer freeze her. She was like an old silkworm, skinny enough to have only one shell. The shell has been living flesh and blood has long been exterminated, layers of consumption in the years of aging year by year. At the moment, she was lying quietly on a small wooden crib with a white towel over her head, a blanket of old-fashioned red and white flowers covered with flocks of loose fleece