好多个黎明,我一个人坐在这儿,一页一页地翻书,周围安静得似乎连空气都停止了呼吸。我低着头,目不斜视,那些字儿在我心间排着队齐齐走。就像儿时,夕阳悬在山尖,大大地,圆圆地,是美丽的红,它一点一点慢慢往下沉,将周围的天空炫成神秘的缤纷。我坐在台阶上,不看任何人,顾自翻自己的小人书。今天看的是曹文轩的《草房子》。愈翻到后来, A lot of dawn, I am a person sitting here, page after page of the book, the quiet around seemed to have stopped breathing the air. I head down, head strabismus, those words in my heart lined up to go. Just as a child, the sunset hangs on the top of a mountain, greatly and roundly, it is beautiful red, and it gradually sinks slowly, turning the surrounding sky into a colorful mystery. I sat on the steps, do not look at anyone, Gu self from turning their own little book. Today is Cao Wenxuan’s “grass house.” The more turn later,