而爸爸的饺皮,带着爸爸的体温,融入爸爸的情感,展如满月,合若珠贝,柔韧而富有弹性。包出的饺子,褶褶相衔,绉绉比肩,山重水复,一如父亲牵我走过的绵密岁月、喜乐年华。今天中午,吃的饺子,爸爸包的。早间我上班,到楼下取车,见父亲坐在小方桌前,很认真地包水饺。我驻足,立爸身后。颈直,背挺,依稀犹见昔日的威仪,只是记忆中无比灵巧的双手,显得有些僵硬,捏出的饺子,大一个,小一个,不似从前,玉润珠圆,美轮美奂。 Dad’s dumpling skin, with his father’s body temperature, into the feelings of my father, such as exhibition full moon, together if the pearl, flexible and elastic. Packed dumplings, pleats phase title, crepe crepe, mountain heavy water complex, as my father took me through the years of sweet joy. Today at noon, eating dumplings, dad bags. Morning I go to work, get downstairs to get the car, see my father sitting at the small square table, very carefully pack dumplings. I stop, stand behind my father. Neck straight, back Ting, vaguely still see the old dignity, but the incomparably clever memory of the hands, it seems a bit stiff, pinch out the dumplings, one large, one small, unlike before, Yurun beads, beautiful.