每年初夏时节，当唱着“割麦种谷”的布谷鸟在城市上空飞过时，我就想起家乡又该麦收了。我得回家看看，看看母亲，看看那生我养我的土地。在我记忆里，只有一次麦收真正属于我自己。那年，我刚刚１５岁。在麦收的节骨眼上，正值中考前夕，父亲却突然病得卧床不起。地里的１２ In the early summer of each year, when the cuckoo, which smelled “cut wheat”, flew over the city, I remembered my hometown and the wheat was collected. I have to go home to see, look at the mother, take a look at that I gave birth to my land. In my memory, only once a wheat harvest really belongs to me. That year, I was just 15 years old. At the point of the wheat harvest, on the eve of the entrance exam, my father suddenly became ill and became bedridden. 12 in the ground