还记得六年前那个悄然逝去的秋天里,有我的决定。家中唯一一个能指导音律的人患了重病——曾一直十分硬朗的爷爷近来刚能走路,当他从窗边向远处眺望时,总拄着一根雕花的拐杖,身板像一片风干了的落叶,可那淡黄的叶脉中分明流淌着不服岁月的微笑。因而,每周六的琴课,似乎只有母亲才能指导我了。当我和她走过小路时,母亲的眼神中闪着淡淡的忧郁,我不清楚她是在回想拄着拐杖送我们到门口的爷爷,还是思考即将面对的一连串晦涩难懂的音符。她拉着我穿过最后一条小巷,那是一条铺满了落叶的小巷。落叶在我们脚下发出清脆的嘎吱嘎吱的声响,未被沆瀣 Remember the autumn that passed away six years ago, my decision. The only one in the family who can guide the temperament was seriously ill - the grandfather, who had always been tough, had been able to walk lately. As he looked out of the window at a distance, he was always leaning on a carved crutch, Deciduous, but that pale yellow veins in the clear flow of a discontented smile. Thus, every piano lesson on Saturday, it seems that only the mother can guide me. As I walked down the path with her, my mother’s eyes shone with melancholy, and I do not know if she was thinking back to my grandfather who brought us to the door on a cane, or thinking about a string of obscure notes that she was about to face. She took me through the last alley, an alley covered with leaves. Fallen leaves crisply crunching beneath our feet, unwashed