村庄村庄总在那里,每栋楼每座屋都站成了路标。我其实是看着村口一个影子归来的,那里端坐着一只石狗,坐着村庄的图腾,它已经稳稳当当地坐在那里数百年,几乎与村庄同龄。外出的游子,总能从它身上的苔藓闻出故乡的味道。每只虫鸟、每片树叶、每串稻穗都有自己曾经的家园,它们或来自高山另侧,或来自大洋彼岸,走得再远,它们的面容、声色都难于改变。如同故乡的土地,如同我们的肤色,如同我们的语言。 There are always village villages, and each house stands as a signpost for every house. I actually looked back at a shadow in the village entrance, where a stone dog sitting, sitting in the village totem, it has been firmly sit there for hundreds of years, almost the same age as the village. Outing wanderer, always from its moss smell out of hometown taste. Each insect, every leaf, and every string of rice have their own homeland. They come from the other side of the mountain or from across the ocean and go further. Their faces and colors are hard to change. Like the homeland of land, as our skin color, as our language.