我坐在姥姥家的防震床上,摩挲着小小枕头上的绣花,眼中充满酸涩。多年前,傍晚。小小的县城里人少车少,没有嘈杂,没有喧闹,没有照亮夜空的排排路灯。余晖中,半壁残阳,火红的云霞燃烧着一天中最后的燥热,而另一边看不真切的月将夜幕织上了屋顶。坐在桌旁,看着姥爷摆上饭菜,我拿起筷子敲得叮当作响。沐着夜风,三人一起吃晚饭。晚饭后,我牵着姥姥的手跑出胡同闲逛一圈。回来时,我手里抓着一把荧光棒。洗 I sit in the shock-proof bed at my grandmother's house, rubbing the embroidery on the little pillow, my eyes full of sourness. Years ago, evening. Little people in the small town less cars, no noisy, no noise, did not illuminate the night sky row of lights. In the aftershocks, half of the sunset, the fiery clouds burning the last day of the hot, while the other side of the moon will be woven on the roof of the night. Sitting at the table, looking at my grandfather put on food, I picked up chopsticks knocked jingle. Mu night wind, three people eat dinner together. After dinner, I took my grandmother's hand ran alley stroll around. Back, I clutched a glow stick in my hand. wash