清明节前,去给父亲上坟。咱家的坟地在山坡上,周围是苹果园,前面是庄稼地,庄稼地一直延展到远处的山根底下,坟地在高处,往前面看就有开阔之感。坟地里长满了野草和蒿子,一冬天的风吹雪压,野草没折,蒿子没倒,密密实实地盖住了坟地。父亲生前是喜欢清爽的,这些野草和蒿子都清除掉,才会对了父亲的心思。放一把火,风助火旺,不大工夫就烧干净了,可是,火会烤着父亲、烟会呛着父亲——我相信父亲的灵魂常在。还是弯下腰薅草吧,草很多,草很硬,可总有薅干净的时候。腰疼,手被草勒出了口子,渗着血丝,出了那么多的汗,都不算什么,此刻,父亲希望他的儿子就是这样的状态。 Before the Ching Ming Festival, go to the grave on his father. Our grave was on the hillside, surrounded by apple orchards, with crops in front of the fields, and the fields of crops extending into the distant roots of the hills. The cemetery was high above the front and looked open. Grave covered with weeds and Artemisia, a winter wind snow pressure, weeds did not fold, Artemisia did not fall, covering the cemetery. My father was like a refreshing life, these weeds and Artemis are cleared away, will be the father’s thoughts. Put a fire, the wind to help Huo, little time to burn clean, but the fire will be baked father, smoke will choke his father - I believe his father’s soul often. Or bent over the grass, a lot of grass, grass is hard, there can always be clean when. Back pain, hand out of the mouth by the grass, infiltrating bloodshot eyes, out of so much sweat, are nothing, at the moment, his father hopes his son is such a state.