你说永远有多远,等待就这样漫无止境,却也不曾见熟悉的身影从雾中走来,秋风再度吹落了黄叶。奶奶说,那是1945年的春天,梧桐花开成漂亮的紫色喇叭状,她穿着碎花土布上衣,来到爷爷家破败的院落。爷爷除了年轻,一无所有。那时,生存困扰着村里的每一家人,现实残酷得没有一点温情,爷爷决定外出闯荡。起初,每隔一段时间,爷爷会托人捎封信,也顺便带些钱回来。但是后来,爷爷没有了音信,整个人像树叶被风吹走。奶奶托外出的人打听,但无一丝音讯,煤油灯下,奶奶支起纺车,摇那一生也纺不尽的棉穗,嗡嗡声直至夜深人静,奶奶的目光空洞如烛火燃烧后的灰烬。 How far you say forever, waiting so endless, but have not seen the familiar figure from the fog came, the autumn wind once again blown yellow leaves. Grandma said that it was the spring of 1945, Sycamore flowers into a beautiful purple trumpet shape, she wore a floral napkin coat, came grandfather dilapidated courtyard. Grandpa is young, nothing. At that time, the existence of troubled every family in the village, the reality cruel without a little warmth, my grandfather decided to go out battles. At first, every once in a while, my grandfather would trust someone to write a letter and, by the way, bring some money back. But later, Grandpa did not have the news, the whole portrait leaves are blown away. Under the kerosene lamp, my grandma supported the spinning wheel and shaved the endless ear of cotton, which bursts into the dead of night. My grandmother’s eyes are empty like the ashes of the burning candle.