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不经意就走到了老家门口，岁月斑白了门上的门神壁纸，消褪了朱红色的门漆，朽蚀了高悬的门檐。叩门的手停在半空，不知该进还是走开。一路的疑问一一跳出，儿时的画面纷至沓来。 Inadvertently walked to the door of my hometown, the years stained the door god wallpaper on the door, faded the red paint on the door, and rotted the overhanging eaves. The hand that knocks at the door stops in the middle of the sky. I don't know whether to enter or leave. All the way out of the question one by one, childhood pictures came in a flood. 我们的胡同院还在吗？那棵高大的槐树还在等着我放学回家吧！那古墙焦急地等着我的情书吧！我闭上眼。 Is our alley still there? That tall locust tree is still waiting for me to come home from school! The ancient wall is waiting for my love letter anxiously! I close my eyes. “吱呀”一声响，门开了，跨过高高的门槛，踏入，随即悬空，像掉入了一个古老悠远的梦境里，那“吱呀”的声音像一首从远古传来的歌谣。 The sound of "squeak" opened the door, crossed the high threshold, stepped in, and then hung in the air, like falling into an ancient and distant dream. The sound of "squeak" was like a ballad from ancient times. 手指轻轻叩响古墙，发出“梆梆”的声响，如同钢琴键那样钝厚温柔的声响，古墙斑驳的脸上青苔掠过，平添了些许皱纹。我不在的时候，古墙就是借青苔的手为我一笔一画写下思念的文字。记得童年时候的我，笑声溅湿了你的脸，槐花瓣儿簌簌落下，淡黄色的花蕊落地，我总爱捡起贴在你苍老的脸上。 | 
