火星不断跳跃着,黑色烧痕爬上炉中的纸钱,一缕缕青烟飘向很远的地方。我的双眼渐渐模糊了。我想起了我的太爷爷。推开祖屋的门,一位老人静静地坐在轮椅上,穿着破旧的蓝布衫,凝视着斑驳的墙上那些黑白照片,神情庄重又虔诚。他沟壑纵横的脸上,那双眼睛像是流露着还未老去的光亮,又像是含着泪光。 Mars is constantly jumping, black burn marks up in the furnace paper money, a plume of smoke drifting far away. My eyes are getting blurred I think of my grandfather. Open the door of ancestral home, an old man quietly sitting in a wheelchair, wearing a shabby blue shirt, staring at the mottled walls of those black and white photographs, solemn and pious look. He gully vertical and horizontal face, those eyes like the light is not yet old, but also like tears.