清明时节,我又一次来到外婆的坟前。山依旧,景依然,人已非,欲想泪先流。烧香,恭恭敬敬地插在坟头;点烛,端端正正地放进神龛;燃纸钱,仔仔细细地烧干净。山风忽来,纸灰旋转飞舞升腾,我知道是山神捎去了我的礼物,独坐墓旁,往事像蒙太奇般地呈现。人不高,微胖,方而带圆的脸,嘴角泛着淡淡的笑意,一双小而明亮的眼睛,慈祥中不失威严,这便是外婆留给我的鲜明的印象。记得她喂的猪很肥,猪们听到她的声音便叫起来,她打开圈门, Ching Ming Festival, I once again came to the Grandma’s grave. Mountain still, King still, people no, want to shed tears first. Burning incense, respectfully inserted in the grave; lit candle, put it straight into the shrine; burning paper money, carefully burn carefully. Suddenly the mountain wind, flying gray paper rose ascended the throne, I know it was taken by the mountain god took my gift, sitting alone next to the tomb, the past as a montage. People are not high, a little fat, square and round face, mouth glowing faint smile, a pair of small and bright eyes, kindness without losing the dignity, this is the grandmother left me a clear impression. I remember she fed pigs are fat, pigs are called to hear her voice up, she opened the circle of doors,