父亲,踩在冬天的尾巴上,拖出了“休息”了一个季度的犁,坐在火红的炉灶旁开始磨起刃口来。第二天,父亲衔着烟,扭头对母亲说了一句:“到田里去了。”母亲应了声,自顾自地做饭。我站在父亲身边,头与父亲肩平,看刚磨得雪亮的犁头,看父亲因劳作而健硕的臂膀,看他眼底那满满的清亮。父亲从圈里拉出喂了一冬草料、养得膘肥体壮的牛。阳光很温 Father, trampled on the tail of the winter, pulled out of a “rest” for a quarter of a plow and sat on the fiery hob to start grinding the edge. The next day, his father caught a cigarette and turned to his mother and said: “I went to the fields.” The mother should be crying and cook. I stood beside my father and shouldered my head with my father to see the freshly-brushed plowshares, the father’s powerful arms for work, and the clearness of his eyes. Father pulled out from the circle fed a winter grass material, raise fat and strong cattle. The sun is warm