7岁时的那个夏日,我拎着镰刀,跟着母亲去收割麦子。母亲的胳膊一划拉,就揽住了四行麦子,一镰下去,放倒一堆。我只割两行,也只是一行一行、一小把一小把地割。很快,我就被母亲远远地甩在了后面。我想赶上母亲,可心里一着急,手底下就出错了。一镰刀下去,竟割破了自己的鞋面和脚背,疼得我龇牙咧嘴。脱了鞋袜,露出一道血口子,我就像母亲平常处理伤口那样,默默地抓了一点 The summer of 7 years old, I carrying a sickle, followed by her mother to harvest wheat. When the mother’s arm was scratched, she took four rows of wheat and took off a pile of sickle. I cut only two lines, only one line, one small, one small cut. Soon, I was far behind my mother. I want to catch up with my mother, my heart in a hurry, my hands went wrong. A sickle went on, actually cut his own upper and instep, pain I fangs grin. Off the shoes and socks, exposing a blood hole, I like the mother usually deal with wounds, silently grabbed a little