1说到春天,我又一次想到草地。母亲曾把我和家里的两头牛儿一起,放牧在那片绿色之上。我像那头调皮的小牛一样,目光里长满了母亲的光阴和安静,长满了与草地有关的故事。我用太阳草测天气,测母亲脸上的晴天和雨天。她晴天,我就笑:她雨天,我就哭。我哭的时候,母亲就剥一节酸巴秆哄我。那段又白又嫩的青春,被我嚼得脆响。那股酸酸甜甜的味道,嚼出流水般清澈的光阴。 When it comes to spring, I think of the meadow again. My mother had put me and her two oxen in the house and grazed on that green. Like the mischievous calf, I looked in the light of my mother’s time and quiet, covered with grass-related stories. I use the sun to measure the weather and measure the sunny and rainy days on my mother’s face. She sunny day, I laughed: she was wet, I cry. When I was crying, my mother took a sour stalk to coax me. That white and tender youth, I was chewing sound. That sweet and sour taste, chew out of the water like a clear time.