妈妈的汤罐是一个蓝白相间的彩色瓷釉罐,现在想起它,我仿佛还能看见它在火炉上,里面煮的东西正在翻滚沸腾,上面缭绕着的蒸气就像是从活火山上蒸发出来的一样。每当我走进后廊,汤罐里散发出来的浓郁芳香不仅使我垂涎欲滴,还使我感到非常的安慰。不管妈妈当时是否正手拿一柄长木勺在汤罐旁边忙碌着,我就知道我已经到家了。 My mother's soup pot is a blue and white colored enamel jar. Now I think of it, I can still see it on the stove. The boiling things are boiling and boiling. The vapour wafting on it is like evaporating from an active volcano. The same. Whenever I walked into the back porch, the rich aroma that radiated from the soup jar not only made me drool, but also made me feel very comforted. Regardless of whether my mother was holding a long wooden spoon and was busy beside the soup pot, I knew I was home.