故乡像游离在记忆里的的浮云,连绵着一片一片的回忆,而有关故乡的点滴记忆,亦如这浮云般让人抓不住看不透,始终无法拼凑出完整的故乡映像。犹记得,每每等到太阳露出边角的时候,故乡的村子里总会弥漫雾气,折射的日光便使周遭变得温润起来,堆积在一旁的荒草堆也散发出生机,空气的味道是乡间特有的味道,这里是外婆家。蝉的鸣叫总不间断。日上三竿的时候,田里似乎突然变得寂静,我总喜欢去田里,在那之前,需要经过一段石板桥。所谓的石板桥是用两块宽大的石板搭建, The hometown is like a floating cloud free from memories, with a piece of memories rolling around. However, the drip memory of the hometown can not grasp the drifting memories of the hometown. It is impossible to piece together a complete hometown image. I still remember that whenever the sun shone, the villages in my hometown were always filled with mist, and the refracted sunlight made the surroundings warm. The heap of prairies piled up also gave birth to life, and the smell of the air was peculiar to the countryside Taste, here is grandmother. Cicadas always uninterrupted. Suddenly, the field seems to suddenly become silent when I am on the third pole. I always like to go to the fields and before that I need to go through a slate bridge. The so-called stone bridge is built with two large stone,