三代,五十四年,半个世纪。在属于我这一代的十八年里,最熟悉的还是那些味道——那些生生不息,揉进记忆,每每接触时都会勾连起大片回忆画面的味道。爷爷的味道是一地的木屑,在阳光照耀下散发着带有暖意的甜香;奶奶是终日里打理花草沾染的泥土清冽;爸爸是尘封在仓 Three generations, fifty-four years, half a century. In the eighteen years that belong to my generation, those who are most familiar with the taste - those who are endless, rub into the memory, often contact with the memory of large memorable scenes taste. Grandfather’s taste is a woodchip, in the sunshine exudes a sweet with warmth; grandmother is handling the flowers all day long clean soil; father is dust in the warehouse