瓦上青烟细细的,一丝一丝的,淡青色的,带着味儿的烟,从吊脚楼里升腾出来,一缕缕,一圈圈,晨风拂过,便满梁到处狂窜。只是眨眼工夫,便就逃窜到了屋背的山崖里,弯弯扭扭地,横亘在山湾那边。这是早晨的炊烟,满滞着莹亮色的晨露儿在那烟痕里。村庄里的木楼,均是依山而建。山陡,崖高,湾深,难有平地,故 Wick smoke on the thin, a trace of the trace, light green, with the smell of smoke, rising from the stilt floor, a plume, a circle, the morning breeze, it full beam wild channeling. Just a blink of an eye, they fled to the back of the cliff, twisting, lying in the Bay Hill over there. This is the smoke of the morning, full of bright morning dew children in the smoke marks. Wooden buildings in the village are built on the mountain. Mountain steep, cliff high, deep bay, difficult to flat, so