老屋院角的槐樹又開花了，雪白的花瓣簌簌落在青石板上，像撒了層碎雪。我站在樹下，仿佛又看見外婆踮著腳摘槐花的身影，藍布衫的衣角在風里輕輕飄動。

外婆做的槐花餡餃子，是我童年最鮮亮的記憶。每年槐花盛開時，她都會搬來竹梯，在樹下支起竹筐。陽光穿過枝葉的縫隙，在她銀白的發絲上跳躍，她摘花時總愛哼《茉莉花》，歌聲混著槐花的清香，在院子里久久不散。

“要摘剛開的槐花，帶著點青蒂才鮮。” 外婆的指甲縫里總嵌著淡綠色的花汁，她把摘來的槐花用清水淘洗三遍，瀝干水分后拌上肉末和姜末，餡料里只放少許鹽和香油。“好東西不用多調料，本色最香。” 她包餃子時手指翻飛，面皮在掌心轉一圈就捏出好看的褶，像槐花開在白瓷盤里。

我總愛蹲在灶臺邊等餃子出鍋。蒸籠揭開的瞬間，白汽裹著香氣撲面而來，外婆會先夾起一個吹涼了喂我，燙得我直吐舌頭，她就笑著用圍裙擦我嘴角的湯汁。有次我趁她不注意，偷吃了半碗生餡料，結果鬧了肚子，她一邊給我揉肚子，一邊念叨 “饞貓”，眼里卻滿是疼惜。

十五歲那年，我去縣城讀高中，臨走前外婆連夜包了三十個槐花餡餃子。“路上吃，涼了就用開水燙燙。” 她把餃子放進鋁制飯盒，又往我包里塞了袋曬干的槐花，“想家了就泡點水喝，聞著味兒就不孤單了。” 汽車開動時，我看見她站在槐樹下揮手，藍布衫在風里飄成小小的影子。

大二那年春天，外婆突發腦溢血去世。等我趕回家，院子里的槐花正開得熱鬧，竹筐還掛在樹枝上，里面剩著半筐沒摘完的槐花。我按照她的方法包了次餃子，餡料里放了鹽和香油，卻總覺得少了點什么。咬開餃子的瞬間，眼淚突然掉了下來 —— 原來少的是外婆指尖的溫度，是她哼的《茉莉花》，是那些藏在褶皺里的疼愛。

今年清明，我帶著女兒回老屋。小姑娘踮著腳夠槐花，像極了當年的我。我把她抱起來，她摘下一朵遞到我嘴邊：“媽媽，槐花好甜。” 風穿過槐樹葉，沙沙的聲響里，仿佛又聽見外婆說：“好東西不用多調料，本色最香。”
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暮色漫進院子時，我包了盤槐花餡餃子。女兒吃得滿嘴流油，我看著她的笑臉，突然明白，有些味道會變成記憶的密碼，只要一口，就能打開時光的閘門，看見那個站在槐花樹下的老人，正笑著朝我揮手。