每逢过年回家,我总情愿呆在老屋里。青砖黛瓦,台阶上零星地探出青苔的脑袋瓜子,凹凸不平的土墙上杂七杂八的涂鸦,泛黄的桃木门咯吱咯吱地哀鸣,几只土家鸡圈养在篱笆里,一条慵懒的老狗在稻草堆里打着瞌睡……老屋如腼腆的姑娘,安静地守在幽僻的乡村,隔绝闹市。老屋总是温暖而亲切的。门前有一张满是灰尘的石板凳,以往奶奶总是坐在那儿,半眯着眼打盹;旁边摆着一把古铜 Whenever I return home during the New Year, I always prefer to stay in the old house. Blue bricks and tiles, sporadic heads of moss burying seeds on the steps, jagged graffiti on the rugged earth wall, yellow-orange bricks groaning slightly, a few Tujia chickens confined in the fence, a lazy old The dog was dozing in the straw pile... The old house girl was quietly guarding the secluded countryside and isolated from the busy city. The old house is always warm and welcoming. There was a dusty stone bench in front of the door. In the past, Grandma was always sitting there and snoring half-eyed; there was a bronze beside it.