降温了,风很大。把衣领拉了拉,静静走在楼下的花圃里,流动了一秋的菊花瓣,瑟瑟地缩在地上,零落成泥,碾碎成尘,用带着泥土的金黄残喘着。这是外公九年前种下的,此后每年秋天都在他的呵护下灿烂地开放。往前几步,抬头,我立住了,很陌生的一棵树,亭亭如盖,翠色依然。迟疑几秒,猛然记起这该是七年前外公植的一棵半米多高的无花果树。 Cool, the wind is great. Pull the collar pull, quietly walked downstairs in the flower garden, flowed a daisy petals, shrunk to the ground, into a mud, crushed into dust, with a golden canyon with dirt. It was planted by my grandfather nine years ago, and every autumn was splendidly opened up under his care. A few steps forward, looked up, I stood, very strange tree, Ting Ting cover, Cuise still. Hesitated a few seconds, suddenly remembered that this is seven years ago, a half-meter-tall fig tree outside the public.