十月深秋,落叶纷飞。跟着母亲匆匆赶回老家参加外公去世十年的祭日,一路上,母亲沉默,我亦沉默。仿佛一切都没变,外婆院子里那棵高大的香樟树一如十年前那般挺拔,它矗立在时光的长河边,见证着这里的点点滴滴,一站便是十个春秋。头顶交错的天线没有变化,逼仄的弄堂没有变化,门前的石板路上永远布满青苔。仿佛 Autumn in late October, falling leaves. With her mother hurried back to his hometown to participate in the 10th anniversary of the death of his grandfather, along the way, my mother was silent, I am also silent. As if everything had not changed, the tall camphor tree in the grandmother’s yard was as tall and straight as ten years ago. It stood by the long river of time and witnessed bit by bit here. One stop was ten years of spring and autumn. Antenna staggered overhead no change, cramped alley no change, in front of the stone road always covered with moss. as if