8月15日。街灯渐暗,晨曦透白。黎明的思绪还在纠缠昨夜的梦魇,窗外却开始了又一轮的车水马龙。如果任时光流转,60年前,父辈们还在襁褓之中,那么站在风口浪尖上的应是祖辈了。战祸频仍,哀鸿遍野。除了撕心裂肺的痛楚,而那些所谓的无上光荣,随同岁月的利剑,深深地刻入或凝重或依稀的脸庞。凝重的,是那一段岁月;依稀的,是 August 15. Street lights dim, dawn white. Dawn’s thoughts are still entangled in a nightmare last night, the window has begun another round of busy. If the passage of time, 60 years ago, fathers are still in their infancy, then stand on the cusp should be ancestors. Frequent wars, ailment. In addition to heart piercing pain, and those so-called supreme glory, with the sword of the years, deeply carved into or dignified or vaguely face. Dignified, that period of time; vaguely, yes