一耳边时常隐约响起,缝纫机针头滴滴答答的穿梭声,那种声音有种特别的韵律,夜晚听起来仿佛来自天籁,轻轻地叩响了我记忆的闸门。深夜里昏黄的灯光下,母亲低着头,双手麻利地推送着面料,双脚飞快地踩在缝纫机踏板上,为他人赶制衣服。父亲总是站在宽大的案子前剪裁面料,然后将剪裁好的布片叠成一沓,递给坐在缝纫机前的母亲。母亲拿到后,会用木尺,分别去量,前胸、下摆、袖口。量完后,母亲告诉父亲,这样会将顾 One ear often vaguely sounded, sewing needle needle ticking shuttle sound, the kind of sound has a special rhythm, the night sounds like from the sounds of nature, gently knocked my memory of the gate. Under dim light in the middle of the night, her mother bowed his head and pushed the fabric drastically with both hands and quickly stepped on the tread of the sewing machine to make clothes for others. My father always stands in front of the sewing machine and wears the fabric before putting it on a large case. After the mother got it, she would use a wooden ruler to measure the volume, chest, hem and cuff respectively. After the amount, the mother told his father, so will care