一我总想,有些东西丢失后,被风吹散,飘远了,总会被一双爱的手捡起来。依稀记得,童年时,每当烧饭的煤炭燃尽后我会把炭灰从灶膛里扒出来,用斗箕倒到家门口小路边的干水沟里。母亲总是不言语,用一根烧火棍在我倒掉的那堆灰烬里翻来复去地挑挑拣拣。 I always think that when something is lost, it is scattered by the wind and floating away. It is always picked up by a pair of loving hands. Vaguely remember, childhood, whenever the burning of coal after burnout I will charcoal Grilled out from the stove, with a bucket pan down to the dry gutter beside the doorway. My mother always spoke nothing, picking it up and picking it down in a pile of ashes that I had drained with a burning fire stick.