岁月幽深,时光的石磨不停地转动,砥砺着匠人的双手。老茧落了又生,生了又落,及至皮绽肉开、血流不止,匠人的意志却愈加坚忍。历史颠沛流离,传统匠人在前行的路上,却被突如其来的生铁机器截住。然后,绝大多数传统匠人的领地都被无情地占去。初心不改的匠人们,只能在狭小的领地里,继续磨刀扬锤。及至老屋重生,匠人已老。回望屋檐,那每一根木头,每一块砖石上,都镌刻着老工匠的不老匠心。 Deep years, the time of the stone kept turning, tempering the tradesman's hands. The old cocoon fell again and again, gave birth to another fall, and to the skin bloom, the blood flow more than the will of the tradesmen are more perseverance. The history is gone and the traditional tradesmen are stopped by the unexpected pig iron machine on their way. Then, the vast majority of traditional craftsmen's territory has been ruthlessly taken. The original intention of the craftsmen, only in the narrow territory, continue to sharpen Yang Hammer. To the old house rebirth, craftsmen are old. Looking back at the eaves, that every piece of wood, every piece of masonry, are engraved with the old craftsman's old heart.