大伯走了,安静地走了;在惊蛰季节,万物复苏,他枯萎了,永远。大伯是去冬一枚树叶,捱过了腐朽就掉了。那颗树上还要生出鲜嫩的芽,茁壮成绿绿的叶子,尔后,还会有鸟鸣、风吟、月映、雨润,但那片叶子再也不是大伯。大伯像他经常俯首时不时打响的口哨,清清亮亮的一声,羞羞涩涩,未等听到,就没了,稀释在风里。大伯的命运就是他播种下的一粒种子的命运, Uncle went, walked quietly; in Jingzhe season, all things revived, he withered, forever. Uncle is a leaf to the winter, had endured the rot on the lost. That tree also have to produce fresh buds, thriving green leaves, then, there will be birdsong, Wind Yin, Moon Ying, Yurun, but that leaf is no longer uncle. Uncle like he often bowed down from time to time to start whistling, clear bright, shy astringent, did not wait to hear, gone, diluted in the wind. Uncle’s destiny is the fate of a seed he sown,