已经三月了,远在北国的角落的这座城还醉着,睡着,像吮着乳嫩手指安睡着的婴孩。我以为它可能是感觉不到春暖花开的敲打,聆听不到这轻灵的流水的叮咚作响,身穿厚实棉衣的行人的思维大抵还停留在北风呼啸的寒冬。其实是心思粗的遗漏了暖暖的清扬的风,柔软的轻抚的阳光,不肯用心去看。尤记起,张爱玲的小说《道路以目》,她的细心,那股对生活的热爱是一般人比不上的。放眼望 It was already March, and the city far from the corner of Northland was still drunk and asleep, as if it were a baby who slept with her delicate fingers. I thought it may not feel the spring banging, can not hear this dainty water ding dong, wearing a thick coat of pedestrian thinking probably still stay in the north wind roaring winter. In fact, the thoughtless omission of the warm Chhnang wind, soft caress of the sun, refused to inadvertently see. Especially remember, Zhang Ailing's novel “Road to Head”, her careful, that kind of love of life is less than most people. Looking ahead