傍晚,我和母亲一起在小路上散步,落日的余晖将母亲的半边脸染上了一层温暖的橘黄色。忽然,母亲停下了脚步,伸手去采摘长在小路边的野绿豆,一双被家务活纠缠得有些粗糙的双手,就这样生生地逼近我的眼帘……记忆里,母亲的双手可不是这样的啊!回忆起许多年前的冬天,我的双手总是无端地被冻得红肿,根根手指就像紧绷着皮的胡萝卜,一道道裂口就像胡萝卜 In the evening, my mother and I took a walk on the path, and the afterglow of the setting sun stained the mother’s half face with a warm orange color. Suddenly, the mother stopped and reached out to pick wild green beans growing by the side of the road. A pair of rough hands were intertwined by the chores. It was so close to my eyes... In memory, the mother’s hands are not like this. Ah! I recall that many years ago in winter, my hands were always swollen and swollen. Roots and fingers were like tightly-skinned carrots. A rip was like a carrot.