我怀念那个夜晚。如墨的夜色涂抹了一切,漆黑的背景里,远山隐约的轮廓比白昼显得矮小,但多了些森严,像长短不一的刀枪剑戟,紧张地举起来,刺向从陡峭处黑压压扑下来的天空。河流忽然收起了温柔的光波,发出恐吓的声音。这是我第一次走夜路。一段并不长的路,我走得比我的记忆还要漫长。我的小手里攥着一把石子,随时投出一粒,吓唬那些我想象中可能出现的鬼影。我的衣兜里揣着一本从小朋友家里借来的书,书里讲述一个善良孩子勇敢的故事,我断断续续回忆 I miss that night. As dark as the ink smears everything, the dark background, the dim outline of the distant mountains than the daytime appears to be short, but more serious, like the different lengths of the sword and sword halberd, nervously lifted, stabbed from steep black pressure Down the sky The river suddenly put away the gentle light waves, issued a threatening voice. This is my first night pass. A long way, I walk longer than my memory. My little hand clutched a stone, ready to cast a grain, to scare those ghosts that I may appear in the imagination. My pocket with a book borrowed from the children’s home, the book tells a brave story of a good boy, I intermittent memories