那片灰褐色的鱼鳞瓦总是在暮色降临时浮现在他的脑海中,如黄昏里从天际归来的乌鸦,潮水般涌来很快将他浸漫在记忆中,直到他看到撑着一把油纸伞在雨中前行的身影,方才如梦初醒。富顺爷让人带话说,半个多世纪来,他做着同样的梦。每到泥暖草生的季节,富顺爷的梦都像拔节的麦子一样,挽着岁月的手,沿着乡间小路成长,越走越远直到走 The taupe tile always appeared in his mind at twilight, such as the crow returning from the sky in the twilight, soaring into the water quickly he fell in his memory until he saw a propped one The oil paper umbrella in the rain before the figure, just a dream awakened. Fushun people tell people that he has been doing the same dream for more than half a century. Every season of mud and warmth, Fushun’s dream is like a jointed wheat, holding hands of years, growing up along the country road, going farther and farther