时近傍晚,一场骤急的阵雨洗去了所有的炎热,微风拂动着紫杉和柏树,给阳光映衬下飒飒作响的绿叶染上一层金色,连饱经风霜的旧墓碑仿佛也吸收了一些明快的色彩,焕发出融融暖意。 送葬的队列在牧师颇有节奏的脚步带领下蜿蜒行进于坟墓之间。牧师双手毕恭毕敬地捧着一本小的、黑色的祈祷书,脸上挂 Towards evening, a sudden shower washed away all the heat. The breeze whisk the yew and the cypresses, and the rustling green leaves are tinted with gold, even the weather-beaten tombstones seem to have absorbed Some bright colors, glow of warmth. The funeral queue winds its way between graves under the rhythm of the priest’s steps. The priest with both hands respectfully holding a small, black prayer book, his face hung