It was another winter, and the bitter cold wind did not blow away the sorrow in my heart. I sat quietly at the table, flipped through the yellow pages, and carefully looked at the densely printed small letters on it. It was a long time ago, and it was also a winter. My father and I returned to our hometown to visit my grandfather. The grandfather in his memory is a simple farmer. He never walked out of the field. He always had a cigarette in his mouth. Seeing us, Grandpa was very happy, put down his farm work, and made a rich table. Fun at home is also fused. After dinner, we sat in the courtyard and talked about the house. The father said to the grandfather, "Dad, you haven't gone out for a walk in your life. Take a look. It's better to go to the city with us this time." As a child, holding a pipe, he kept saying indistinctly: "Okay, okay, okay the next day, there were a few grandpa old friends at home, sitting in the courtyard and talking about the sky. I sat on the threshold, Listen in silence. Grandpa is glad to say that he can go to the city to see, proudly showing his satisfaction with his son. And his friends heard, but did not follow the joy. I vaguely heard them are advising Grandpa, do n��t Go to the city and say that he has been here all his life Cheap Cigarettes, and when he is old, he will still be in the city, and he will not get used to the life of the city, and it will cause a lot of trouble for the children. That happiness. Later, Grandpa's friends left, but he sat alone in the courtyard ba, with his head down, holding a pipe, in the clouds and fog, thinking for a long time. My father and I were leaving, grandma and Sister came to see us off while grandpa . Dad did not come to the mouth dissatisfaction muttered: "Well said Marlboro Red, and how they go back. "Returned to my home in the city. Soon, I heard the bad news of my grandfather's long-term resignation, but my dad didn't believe it, it was just good, and it didn't matter how he said it. He rushed back to his home to deal with the grandfather's funeral and pack up the grandfather's relic Inadvertently, I found a diary with a yellowish color, and my dad brought it home. This is the yellowed diary in front of me. Open it gently, there is a record of farm work, farming time, and a home collection. The record of the branch is the most written on one page Marlboro Lights. When you look closely, it is the story of the grandfather who wrote in the city. Grandpa imagines the people and things that may be encountered in the city. In the words, he is all happy, but it is all grandpa. After all, Grandpa did n��t come to the city after all, maybe he believed what his friends said, maybe he did n��t want to leave the land where he raised him, but I know he must be struggling, tangled, or deep. Sorry that our hearts are always our own. It would be great if Grandpa did n��t have so many concerns in his heart.
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