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立春已过,但仍是春寒料峭。骑着单车的我在呼啸的北风里一路穿过,机械运动的双脚早已麻木,可心里只有一个念头:早点回家。只顾匆匆忙忙地回家,却不明白急于想看到什么。是门前老槐树刚抽出的新芽,是母亲鬓边的白发,抑或是院子里追逐争食的鸡鸭?或许所想的只是早点找回那久违的回家的感觉。如果说回家是一种声音,一定缥缈而又绵长;如果说回家是一种脚步,一定清闲而
Spring has passed, but it is still chilly. Riding a bicycle in the north wind whistling all the way through the mechanical movement of the feet already numb, but my heart only one thought: go home early. Just hurriedly go home, but do not understand what they are anxious to see. Is the old bud just in front of the old tree buds, is the mothers side of the white hair, or fight chasing the yard of chickens and ducks? Perhaps just want to get back the feeling of returning home for a long time. If we say that home is a kind of voice, we must be sloppy and long; if we say that going home is a kind of footsteps, we must be idle