一条深邃的巷子永恒地掩藏在小镇里,屋顶凸出的砖瓦好像历史缝成的细细密密的针脚,吐着一行行漫无边际的诗。奶奶的老院子就羞涩地镶嵌在这条小巷中,沉淀了一个多世纪的日出与日落,为这漫长的诗行做了韵脚。大人们告诉我,奶奶的院子里有一棵百年桑树,儿时,它常以一位白发苍苍的老者的形象闯入我童年的梦中。桑树伫立在时光的河畔,凝望着过往的孤 A deep alley hidden in the town eternal, the roof tiles protruding like the history of the fine stitches stamped, spit out a line of endless poetry. Grandmother’s old yard is shyly embedded in this alley, precipitation of more than a century of sunrise and sunset, rhyme for this long line of poetry. The adults told me that Grandma’s yard had a hundred years of mulberry trees. In her childhood, I used to break into my childhood dream with the image of a white-haired old man. Mulberry standing in the river of time, staring at the past alone