又是一个寂静的夜晚,窗外的风儿轻轻吹,拨乱了我的思绪,想起日渐衰老的母亲,想起母亲上个月被开水烫伤的手。“姐,快点回来吧,咱娘烫着手了。”我接到妹妹打来的电话,慌忙赶回家。一进门就看到母亲的手臂缠着厚厚的纱布。我轻轻地拉起母亲的手,这一双手又粗又硬,手掌间满布着老茧,掌纹也变成了密密麻麻、纵横交错的沟槽,粗糙的皮肤还渗了一层总也洗不去的泥色。记忆 Another quiet night, the wind outside the window blew gently, disarming my thoughts, remembered the aging mother, reminded her of the mother was scalded by boiling water last month. “Sister, come back quickly, my mother hot hands.” "I received a call from my sister, hurried home. As soon as I got in, I saw the mother’s arm wrapped around thick gauze. I gently pulled the mother’s hand, the hands thick and hard, covered with calluses between palms, palmprint has become dense, criss-cross the grooves, the rough skin has also infiltrated a layer of total wash Not going muddy. memory