总喜欢捧着一册散发着淡淡油墨芬芳的书,半躺在那“吱呀吱呀”晃了多年的藤椅上。秋风混合着稻香,伴着书中人物的悲欢离合一起抵达心灵的深处。当夕阳渐渐落下,把我的影子慢慢拉长,我便轻轻合上书页,心中默默地庆幸那一个个故事是真的抑或是假的。我喜欢看书,是因为母亲。记得那时,我还是个孩子,母亲是个温柔的女子,极爱书,时常给我念 Always like to hold a book exudes a touch of ink fragrant ink, half lying in that “squeak ah ” Akira for many years on the wicker chair. Autumn wind mixed with rice incense, accompanied by the book’s joys and sorrows together to reach the depths of the soul. As the setting sun slowly falls and my shadow is lengthened slowly, I gently close the page, silently remembered the stories as true or false. I like to read books because of my mother. I remember that time, I was a child, the mother is a gentle woman, love books, often read me