姥爷老了,干不动地里的活了。刚收了今年的麦子,他收拾收拾,装了一车的东西,搬到了县城来。舅舅领着四岁的儿子到姥爷的新家帮忙搬东西。小娃儿叽里咕噜爬上车,从车上的角落里拿出一把镰刀,跑到一旁的沙堆边刨沙玩。姥爷冲着小孙子喊了一声:“别割着手。”镰刀在夕阳下闪着红光,姥爷低头,望了一眼以前割麦子时镰刀在手上留下的疤。 Grandpa is old, live in the ground. Just received this year’s wheat, he packed up, loaded a car thing, moved to the county seat. Uncle led his four-year-old son to grandpa’s new home to help move something. Little baby jirk grunt climbed the car, took out a sickle from the corner of the car, ran to the side of the sand puddle sand play. Grandpa shouted at the grandson: “Do not cut the hand.” Sickle shining red in the sunset, grandfather looked down, looked at the scythe scythe left in the hands of the scion when wheat was cut.