田埂上的时光

　　晨雾还没散尽时，父亲的锄头已经在田埂边划出第一道印子。我踩着露水跟在后面，裤脚很快沾了湿凉的草屑，泥土的腥气混着青草香钻进鼻腔，是独属于田野的清晨味道。

　　母亲总在田垄那头摘菜，竹篮挎在臂弯里，手指在嫩绿的菜叶间翻飞。“慢些拔，别带起太多土。”她回头叮嘱，额前的碎发沾着汗珠，阳光穿过薄雾落在她肩上，像镀了层暖金。我学着她的样子蹲下身，指尖触到菜根旁湿润的泥土，才知道平日里饭桌上脆嫩的青菜，要这样带着晨露和泥土的温度，从地里一棵棵捧出来。

　　正午的日头最烈时，我们坐在老槐树下歇脚。父亲卷一支烟，说这季的麦子长得比去年壮；母亲把水壶递过来，里面的凉白开带着搪瓷壶特有的温吞。风从田野里吹过来，掀动父亲洗得发白的衣角，也吹得远处的稻浪一层层翻滚，我忽然懂了他们常说的“接地气”——不是脚下沾了土，是心里装着这片田的荣枯，装着一粥一饭的来之不易。

　　傍晚回家时，竹篮里装着新鲜的蔬菜，父亲肩上扛着锄头，母亲手里攥着我拔断的半根萝卜。夕阳把我们的影子拉得很长，落在田埂上，和那些刚种下的菜苗、刚翻好的土地，连在一起成了最踏实的画面。后来我离乡远行，吃过再多城市的饭菜，总也忘不掉田埂上的晨光与晚风，忘不掉父母弯腰劳作的身影——那是藏在泥土里的牵挂，也是我一生都带在身上的温暖底色。

　　全文英文：

　　Time on the Ridge

　　When the morning mist had not yet cleared, Father's hoe had already made the first mark beside the ridge. I followed behind, stepping on the dewdrops. Soon, my trouser legs were damp with cool grass clippings. The earthy smell mixed with the fragrance of green grass wafted into my nose, the unique scent of a rural morning.

　　Mother was always picking vegetables at the end of the ridge, with a bamboo basket on her arm. Her fingers flitted among the tender green leaves. "Pull them gently, don't bring up too much soil," she turned back and reminded. Strands of hair on her forehead were damp with sweat. The sun shone through the mist and fell on her shoulders, as if gilding them with warm light. I squatted down like her. When my fingertips touched the moist soil beside the vegetable roots, I realized that the crisp and tender greens on our dinner table were plucked from the ground, still carrying the morning dew and the warmth of the earth.

　　At noon, when the sun was at its fiercest, we took a break under the old locust tree. Father rolled a cigarette and said the wheat this season was stronger than last year's. Mother passed me the kettle. The cool boiled water inside had the gentle warmth unique to enamel kettles. The wind blew from the fields, fluttering the hem of Father's faded shirt and making the rice waves in the distance roll layer by layer. Suddenly, I understood what they often meant by "being in touch with the earth" - it's not just having soil on your feet, but having the prosperity and decline of this field in your heart, and knowing how hard - won every meal is.

　　 When we went home in the evening, the bamboo basket was filled with fresh vegetables. Father carried the hoe on his shoulder, and Mother held the half - broken radish I had pulled in her hand. The setting sun stretched our shadows long on the ridge, merging with the newly planted seedlings and the freshly plowed land to form the most reassuring picture. Later, I left home and traveled far away. No matter how many city dishes I've tasted, I can never forget the morning light and evening breeze on the ridge, nor the figures of my parents bending over to work - that's the love hidden in the soil, and the warm undertone that I'll carry with me for a lifetime.

　　英文教学：

　　 一个逗号半句话，一个点一句话，主要靠听写记，和日积月累，没有人盯着你，你得自学成才，你不成才，无人能帮你！