记忆中,母亲一直用阅读浸润着我。我们徜徉于唐诗、宋词中,乐此不疲:漫步于下着酥雨的长安城,撑起一把油纸伞,远眺清新的春景;仰望皓月当空,侧耳倾听蝉噪蛙鸣,躺在金黄的麦浪中,嗅着朴实的麦香;闲坐于绿树浓阴下,观池中华美楼台的倒影,伴着蔷薇的甜香沉醉;转眼间,又置身于一叶扁舟,误入了藕花深处,惊动了一滩洁白的鸥鹭。正午的阳光慵懒地洒在窗台上。伴着温暖的阳光,我和母亲一起:梦回清朝,感叹 Memory, my mother has been immersed in reading me. We wander in the Tang poetry, the lyrics, bored: walk under the Changan City with crisp rain, hold up a paper umbrella, overlooking the fresh spring; look up Haoyue airspace, listen to the cicada noise frog, lay in the golden wheat waves, Smell the simple wheat; sit in the shade of trees and trees, the pool view of China and the United States the reflection of the tower, accompanied by sweet rose drunk; blink of an eye, but also exposure to a leaf boat, strayed into the depths of lotus root, Suddenly a beach of white gull. Midday sun lazily sprinkled on the windowsill. Accompanied by the warm sunshine, I and my mother: Dream of the Qing Dynasty, sigh