某地某村,天是灰白色的,北风刺骨,这是1945年的冬天。他的父亲在他十岁时去世了,母亲一人把他拉扯大,母子俩寄居在舅舅家,受尽冷暖,睡的是灶台旁用的柴火隔出来的小木床,吃的灶边饭。他永远记得冬天早上窗子上冰水顺着土造的墙面滴到脖颈上的感觉,毕竟这几年冬天的早晨他都是这样被叫醒的,很苦,但他知道,这已是母亲能做到的全部,他也知道,母子俩不分开,已再好不过。这是鬼子又一次扫荡了,前线吃景, Somewhere in a village, the sky is gray, northerly biting, this is the winter of 1945. His father died when he was ten years old. His mother pulled him big and her mother and her dwelling in her uncle’s home. He was warm and sleepy, sleeping on a wooden bed separated by firewood by the hearth and eating the side of the stove. He always remembers the feeling of dripping onto the neck along the walls of ice on the windows in the winter morning. After all, he woke up so awkwardly in winter these few years, but he knew it was a mother All he can do, he also knows that mother and child are not separated, it is no better. This is a devil once again razed, eat the front line King,