日暮的火烧云里,我踱到以前住的老房子里。那房子长我一岁,比我多享受一年的阳光,也多经历了一年的风雨。十几年的风吹日晒已让老屋的墙有些泛黄。那用老式的石灰粉糊的墙面上,布满了细密的裂纹,很久以前的和不久以前的,交织、重叠,像一幅幅神秘的油画,布满一面又一面的墙。我 In the burning clouds of the evening, I walked to the old house where I lived before. The house grew me one year old, more than I enjoy the sunshine a year, but also experienced a year of trials and hardships. Ten years of wind and sun have made the old house some yellowing of the wall. The old plaster wall, covered with delicate cracks, long ago and not long ago, was intertwined, overlapping, like a mystical oil painting, covered with walls one after another. I