我总能听见火车的鸣笛,它就在东边的天际,好像只要我向东奔跑就能扒住它走向远方。秋霜还在茅草的枝上,凌霜把茅叶压弯,末端缀着一粒冰晶。我蹲下来看冰晶在阳光下向四处折射光线。清晨带着筐出来,割了两桶草倒在田头的空地,我感到厌倦。火车的笛声又尖锐地响起了,好像要划破我的耳膜,不断刺激着我。脚下的布鞋已经被踩得很薄,底板已被麦茬戳穿了几次。仰起头,日上中天。在灶口看锅里冒出青烟,听见里面的饭“咕咕”地叫,那鸣笛又不合时宜地响了,划 I can always hear the whistle of a train, and it is on the horizon to the east, as if I can run to the east and cling it to the distance. Autumn frost is still on the branches, Ling cream to bend the leaves, the end decorated with a crystal ice. I squat down to see ice crystals in the sun to refraction around the light. I was tired of taking the baskets out early in the morning and cutting two barrels of grass down in the fields. The whistle of the train rang sharply again, as if to pierce my eardrum and constantly stimulate me. At the foot of the cloth shoes have been stepped on very thin, the stool has been stabbed a few times stubble. Looked up, the sky on the day. In the kitchen mouth to see the smoke in the pot, I heard the meal inside “cuckoo ” to call, then the whistle is not timely, rang