winter have passed, and all things recovery, at this time, the annual ching ming festival again. from the start my notebook, each of the ching ming festival this day, the mother let me put on army colored spring, with paper money, led me go.
the death of our family are buried in people biandantang hill, where very far from my house, want to switch cars several road. i remember a child, i always am glad to go上坟, because the mother at one grave money, me, and i will fill the fields and everywhere to play, until his mother put on my drag car go.
i do not know from the start when i go to play it again no longer downtown, but one after another to observe each one graves. i once found in a dilapidated graves, no traces of burnt paper money, i am very surprised that on the down, the language carefully to identify the monument, as if engraved above the so-called "life took part in fighting this war," and he was still a stranger miles! why, he should be buried in the martyrs cemetery ! why is no one above the names of relatives?
with questions about my curiosity ran to tell his mother, the mother does not rise, but slowly, said: "alas! you go get some paper money for him it!" i took over the delivery to the mother of a pile of paper money. he went to the tomb, while throwing paper money to the fire, he murmured: "no one has ever been up for your grave, you must be very lonely, and i do not know what you call not recognize you, but you year must be a hero, now has displaced bones, i burn some paper money for you now ... ... "at this time, his hands gently caught one of my shoulders, i looked back and was the mother, she gently from my hands took some paper money, threw the fire, the paper money fell fire, one, two, four ... ...
this year went to the vicinity of cemeteries, and because the mother had severe rheumatoid arthritis, she could not , and i go, she is not a person at ease. so we at outdoor money, his mother threw some paper money said: "dad! you then you! small, remote, (my uncle) with ... ..."
finally only a pile of paper money, the mother put it to me said: "little wing, do you die for that unknown person burned it, alas! did not give him strange people poor." the fire ... ... my face, my heart said: "rest in peace now! next year the ching ming festival, i must go上坟for you!" wind gust over, put the ashes of burnt paper money has been blown away ... ...
冬天过去了，万物复苏，这时，一年一度的清明节又到了。从我记事开始，每年清明节的这一天，母亲就让我换上军色的春装，带着纸钱，领着我上坟去。
我们家去世的人都埋在扁担山，那儿离我家很远，要转好几道车。记得小时候，我总是很高兴去上坟，因为母亲在坟前一烧纸钱，就管不着我了，我便满山遍野地到处玩，直到母亲把我拖上车去。
不知从什么时候开始，我去上坟不再又玩又闹了，而是逐个逐个地观察每一座坟。有一次我发现在一座破烂不堪的坟前，从来没有纸钱烧过的痕迹，我很奇怪，就弯下腰，仔细辨认碑上的文字，上面好像刻着什么“生前曾参加过抗美援朝的战斗”，而且他还是个外乡人哩!咦，他应该埋在烈士墓园吧!为什么上面没有一个亲属的名字?
我带着疑问跑去好奇地告诉母亲，母亲没有抬头，只是缓缓地说：“唉!你拿些纸钱去为他上坟吧!”我接过了母亲递来的.一叠纸钱。走到了他墓前，一边往火里扔纸钱，一边喃喃地说：“从来没有人来为您上过坟，您一定很寂寞吧，我虽然不知道您叫什么，也不认识您，但您当年一定是个功臣，如今尸骨却流落他乡，我为您烧一些纸钱吧……”这时，一双手温和地扶住了我的双肩，我回头一看，原来是母亲，她轻轻从我手中拿了一些纸钱，扔向火中，纸钱打着旋落在火中，一张，两张、四张……
今年又到清明了，由于母亲得了严重的风湿性关节炎，她不能上坟了，而我一个人去她又不放心。于是我们就在室外烧纸钱，母亲扔一些纸钱就说：“爹!您接着吧!小远(我的舅舅)拿着……”
纸钱只剩下最后一叠时，母亲把它递给我说：“小咏，你为那位死不知名的人烧吧，唉!没人给他上坟怪可怜的。”……火光映着我的脸，我在心里说：“安息吧!明年清明节时，我一定为您去上坟!”一阵风吹了过来，把纸钱烧过的灰烬吹走了……
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