“卖米酒喽……”市场尽头小喇叭的吆喝声此起彼伏,若远若近,声音中还裹挟着米酒的缕缕醇香。“妈妈,米酒真好吃!”儿子把勺子不住地往嘴里塞,咂吧着小嘴,小脸上糊满了甜蜜。我也轻轻舀了一勺送进嘴里,若有所思,慢条斯理地说道:“是还不错,不过还是少了一种特别的味道。”“还少了一种味道?什么味道?”儿子忽闪着一双水汪汪的大眼睛望着我。“外婆的味道。”说话间,思绪便插上了双翅,飞向了那个人烟已逐渐稀少的小山村,飞进了那个一灯如豆的夜晚…… “Sell rice wine myself ... ” The end of the market trumpeter sirens come and go, if far away, the sound is also entangled in rice wine’s cinnamon. “Mum, rice wine is delicious!” Son spoon to live in his mouth plug, 咂 it with a small mouth, little face filled with sweet. I also gently scoop a spoon into my mouth, thoughtfully, said slowly: “is not bad, but still less of a special taste. ” “What less a taste and what Taste? ”My son suddenly flashed a pair of watery eyes looking at me. “Grandmother’s taste.” Talking, his thoughts will be plugged in the wings, flying to the small mountain village has gradually scarce, flew into the lamp, such as beans night ... ...