我依稀看到,母亲的指尖仿佛氤氲着一缕炊烟,柔和朦胧,若有若无,却坚定地向着天空的方向延展着……在记忆中,母亲的手是柔软而芬芳的,每一次抚过我的头发和脸颊,就像一朵白云在山间飘移,温润而清新,可以让我轻易地陷入宁静,进入睡眠,沉溺于一个个甜美的梦境。只是,当记忆被日渐匆忙的生活淹没,母亲的手也渐渐疏淡了旧日的味道,每一天,我虽然都会记得给母亲报声平安,却很少 I vaguely saw that her mother’s fingertips seemed to be plunged into a wisp of smoke, softly dim. If there was nothing, she staunchly stretched toward the sky ... In her memory, her mother’s hand was soft and fragrant, each time Touched my hair and cheeks, like a white cloud drifting in the mountains, warm and fresh, allows me to easily plunge into silence, sleep, indulge in a sweet dreams. However, when memory is inundated by increasingly rushed lives, the hands of the mother gradually diminish the taste of the old days. Although I remember reassuring her mother every day, it is rare