In the dining room of my grandfather’s house stood a massive grandfather clock. Meals in that dining room were a time for four generations to became one, The table was always spread with food from wonderful family recipes all containing love as the main ingredient. And always that grandfather clock stood like a trusted old family friend, sharing our happiness.
As I was a child, the old clock intersted me. I watched and listened to it during meals. I wondered how at different times of the day , that clock could strike with a wonderful sound. Year after year , the clock struck a part of my memories, a part of my heart.
Even more wonderful to me was what my grandfather did each day. He carefully wound that clock with a special and magic key, which kept the clock ticking and striking. He never let that clock wind down and stop. When we grandkids got a little older, he showed us how to wind the clock.
Several days after my grandfather died, I entered the dining room, with tears flowing freely . The clock stood desertedly quiet, seeming smaller and not as magnificent as before. I couldn’t bear to look at it.
Years later, my grandmother gave me the clock and the key. The old house was quiet, I opened the clock door with my shaking hand. Then slowly, reverently (虔诚地),I entered the key and wound the clock. It sprang to life. Tick-tock,tick-tock,life and chimes(报时) were breathed into the dining room, into house and lnto my heart . In the movement of the hands of the clock, my grandfather lived again.