七月末,天空湛蓝,没有风。从车窗向远处看去,公路上那向前奔涌的热浪似要把这来来往往的车辆都要融化了。我和爸爸如往年一样,在这个河蟹变的肥美的时候回老家,当然不是为了吃螃蟹,只是一种习惯。以前习惯了让爸爸在河边抓只大大的青色的螃蟹,然后,端着那笨螃蟹永远爬不出的盆子,笑嘻嘻地向奶奶炫耀,而现在只是习惯了怀念。老家的房子当街而立,红瓦,木板门。门前有棵石榴树,树干从中间裂开了,但枝叶十分的茂盛,开花的时候,很好看,小红灯笼似的红花,挂了满满一树。小时候,每到了七月末,我总会和奶奶在黄昏的时候,坐在庭院里,我一边吃着雪糕,一边不住地跟她说话。我 At the end of July, the sky is blue and windless. Looked from the window to the distance, the heat waves on the road that run forward may want to melt the traffic coming and going. My father and I, as in previous years, returned to their hometown when the river crabs became plump. Of course it was not a habit to eat crabs. I was used to let my father caught only a big green crab in the river, and then, carrying stupid crabs will never crawl out of pots, showing off to my grandmother, and now just used to miss. The home of the house standing street, red tile, wooden door. There is a pomegranate tree in front of the tree trunk split from the middle, but the foliage is very lush, flowering, very nice, like a red lantern-like safflower, hung full of trees. When I was young, at the end of July, I always sat with my grandmother in the courtyard at dusk. While I was eating ice-cream, I could not speak to her. I