雁过无痕,岁月无声。在生命的每一个空隙,白驹过隙的光阴正不着痕迹的流逝,流年的浪花,在心头如莲花般地开落。那时我八岁,正是天高云淡、桂花飘香的时节。强哥、杏子、红姐,我们总在桂园里上演一场场军事游戏。不知谁家院子里的砖头,被我们一块块搬移,悄悄垒起一道道防御工事;早早备好的各种武器——水枪、弹弓、沙包一起上阵。强哥常常最先抢占有利地形——他家二楼的阳台,趁我不注意,大喊一声:“看招!”那水枪四射,让我措手不及。战后的我们总 Goose no trace, years silent. In every vantage of life, the passing of time is disappearing. The fleeting streams open in the heart like lotus. At that time I was eight years old, it was clear sky, sweet-scented osmanthus season. Strong brother, apricot, red sister, we always put on a field game in the Gui Yuan. I do not know who the bricks in the yard, moved by us piece by piece, quietly stamped a road fortifications; early prepared a variety of weapons - water cannons, slingshots, sandbags together battle. Strong brother is often the first to seize the favorable terrain - the balcony on the second floor of his house, while I do not pay attention, shouted: “Look trick! ” That shots, let me be caught by surprise. After the war we always