一片红色荒原,一间褐色土屋,一条彩色小径,在大地的某处,在群山的深处,在距离村的远处,在我表叔栖居之处。多年后的今天,当我在电脑键盘上用心敲打这篇文章时,脑海中适时闪现的仿佛是一幅阅读了多年的图画。 在我的故乡,那片荒原的荒凉已经由来已久。只是有关它的森林故事、动物的故事以及狩猎的故事和砍伐的故事还弥留在老人们的口中。荒原的出现似乎在表明着在大地之上有许多东西并非取之不 A red wasteland, a brown earth house, a colored path, somewhere in the earth, in the depths of the mountains, in the distance from the village, in the dorm of my uncle. Years later, when I tapped on this essay on a computer keyboard, the timely flash of my mind seemed to be a picture that I had read for many years. In my hometown, desolation of that piece of wasteland has been around for a long time. Only the stories about forests, animal stories, hunting stories and felling stories about it are still in the mouth of the old people. The appearance of the wilderness seems to indicate that there is much to be desired over the earth