那年春天,天气异常干旱。田间的小麦还没长到半尺高,纤细的叶子就变成了枯黄色,并且慢慢地弯曲起来。风,携带着沙尘,四处乱窜,把天空搅和成阴沉的灰褐色,如同父亲心情一般。每天,父亲都起得很早。他经常独自一个人坐在地头,紧皱着眉头,“吧嗒、吧嗒”地抽着旱烟,凝视着那一片被 In the spring of that year, the weather was extremely dry. The wheat in the field has not grown to a height of half a foot. The thin leaves have turned yellow and slowly bent. The wind, carrying sand and dust, scolded everywhere and stirred the sky into a gloomy tan, like a father. Every day, my father got up early. He often sat alone on the ground, frowning his head, yawning and staring at the smoke.