#随手拍的花分享#蹲在月季花丛前，指尖轻轻碰了碰那朵奶油色的花苞，一年前，也是这样的春日，母亲蹲在这里，教我把枯枝剪干净。“你看这黄色的，要晒足太阳才会香；那粉的性子娇，得少浇水。”她的声音混着花香，像此刻落在花瓣上的光斑，明明灭灭。
如今花丛里的颜色更热闹了：鹅黄的像撒了糖霜，橙红的像揉碎的晚霞，最艳的那株紫红，开得比母亲生前种的还要大。可花架下少了她弯腰施肥的身影，连泥土的气息都带着空落落的甜。风过时，花瓣簌簌落在我手背上，像她从前替我擦眼泪的动作。
睹物思人，我多想一切回到从前，此刻泪水模糊了视线……
I crouched before the rosebushes, gently touching that cream-colored bud with my fingertip. A year ago, on such a spring day, Mother had squatted right here, teaching me to trim away the dead branches. “Look at these yellow ones—they need plenty of sun to smell sweet; those pink ones are delicate and need less water,” her voice blended with the fragrance of the flowers, like the flickering patches of sunlight on the petals now.
Now the colors in the flower patch are even more vibrant: the pale yellow ones resemble sugar-dusted confections, the orange-red ones like crumpled sunset glows, and the most striking magenta bloom grows larger than any Mother had ever planted before. But beneath the trellis, her figure bending to fertilize the soil is gone, and even the scent of the earth carries a hollow sweetness. When the wind blows, petals flutter down onto my hand, just like how she used to wipe away my tears.
Gazing at these familiar sights and thinking of her, how I wish everything could go back to the way it was. Now, tears blur my vision…
如今花丛里的颜色更热闹了：鹅黄的像撒了糖霜，橙红的像揉碎的晚霞，最艳的那株紫红，开得比母亲生前种的还要大。可花架下少了她弯腰施肥的身影，连泥土的气息都带着空落落的甜。风过时，花瓣簌簌落在我手背上，像她从前替我擦眼泪的动作。
睹物思人，我多想一切回到从前，此刻泪水模糊了视线……
I crouched before the rosebushes, gently touching that cream-colored bud with my fingertip. A year ago, on such a spring day, Mother had squatted right here, teaching me to trim away the dead branches. “Look at these yellow ones—they need plenty of sun to smell sweet; those pink ones are delicate and need less water,” her voice blended with the fragrance of the flowers, like the flickering patches of sunlight on the petals now.
Now the colors in the flower patch are even more vibrant: the pale yellow ones resemble sugar-dusted confections, the orange-red ones like crumpled sunset glows, and the most striking magenta bloom grows larger than any Mother had ever planted before. But beneath the trellis, her figure bending to fertilize the soil is gone, and even the scent of the earth carries a hollow sweetness. When the wind blows, petals flutter down onto my hand, just like how she used to wipe away my tears.
Gazing at these familiar sights and thinking of her, how I wish everything could go back to the way it was. Now, tears blur my vision…
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