十二月一到,天气微凉,叶子从秋一直掉,如今楼下豆荚树上青青的豆子早已掉光,只留下光秃秃的枝干丑陋不堪,我总暗喜自己不是一棵大树,让岁月磨去棱角,让北风吹弯身子,让孩童骑在头上。这样想的时候,我还太小,小到幼稚成了习惯,却不懂岁月会将我们改变。常指着院子里的那棵不高的柿子树咿咿呀呀。我还太小,低矮的身子嘲笑它高得笨拙,幼嫩的皮肤对比它粗糙的臂膀,但却仍是满心欢喜地吃它的 December, the weather is cool, leaves fall from the autumn, and now the green beans on the pod tree downstairs have long been out of light, leaving bare bare branches ugly, I always feel sorry that they are not a big tree, let Years of worn edges and corners, so that the north wind bending body, let the children ride in his head. When I think like this, I’m too young, naive to become a habit, but do not understand the years will change us. Often pointing to the yard is not tall persimmon tree Baba Ya Yeah. I was too young, the low body teasing it that it was awkwardly clumsy, the young skin comparing to its rough arm, but still eating it with joy