在飘雨的村庄深夜不出门,皎洁的月光,在如水的夜色中,打捞岁月不解的风情。我聆听到父亲的咳嗽声,跨过季节的蔚蓝蹒跚而来,直抵我生命的港口。醒着的呓语沉默了许久的故事,让远处的犬吠陷入村庄的每一个角落。手中的唐诗宋词,始终让我寻找不到一种返璞归真的诱惑。一场雨季,便在收获后的麦地上如期而至,丝丝雨滴在无声的呼唤中加快了时间的脚步,仿佛肌体中流淌的液体,分分秒秒都在切割着光阴,又分分秒秒被光阴所切割。玻璃内的凝视变得朦胧,就像久远的往事在流动的琴弦上,肆意弹奏月光中动人的歌谣。于是,一遍 In the drifting village late at night do not go out, the bright moonlight, in the water of the night, time-honored fishing style. I heard the sound of my father’s cough, staggering across the blue of the season, to the port of my life. Awake 呓 language silent story for a long time, so that distant barks into every corner of the village. In the hands of the Tang and Song Dynasties, always let me find a return to innocence temptation. A rainy season, then in the harvest after the wheat on schedule, slightest raindrops in the silent call to speed up the pace of time, as if the body fluid flowing, every minute of the cut in the time, and every minute Second cut by the time. Staring inside the glass becomes dim, just like the long past in the flowing strings, wantonly moving touching songs in the moonlight. So, again