又是一个夏天,鸡鸣犬吠,炊烟袅袅,婆娑的柳树垂在檐边。农家小院里,一位年过花甲的老人坐在小凳子上磨着那把晶亮的镰刀,已经磨得锋利无比。“爷爷,您歇一会儿再去吧,这大中午的,热得很,等稍微凉快一点了再去吧。”“傻孩子,我要赶紧上山割麦子,不然等傍晚打雷下雨就不好了。”说着,便提着那把弯弯的镰刀上山了。于是,似火骄阳下,一位戴着草帽的老人,弯着腰,挥舞着手 Another summer, cock barking, curl smoke, whirling willow hanging in the eaves. Small farmhouse in the farmhouse, an elderly man who spent more than a year sitting on a stool and rubbed the shiny sickle has been sharpened. Grandpa, you rest a while to go, this is noon, the heat is very cool, wait a little cool and go. “” Silly boy, I want to hurriedly cut the wheat, or else thunderstruck in the evening Not good. “” Then, carrying the bent sickle up the hill. So, like a fire in the sun, a straw hat of the elderly, bent, waved his hand