一红旗路的夜是寂静的,我住在机关院内一楼的位置,不见月色,黑暗里,迷离的一栋栋楼房,看不清轮廓,刺着灰暗的天空。这个暮春的夜晚,我难以入眠,索性在院内踱起步来。夜凉如水,只见后花园的灯光闪烁流动,若隐若现,时而听见虫儿啼鸣。静听远处传来的歌声,好像是三毛的《橄榄树》:“不要问我从哪里来,我的故乡在远方,为什么 The night of a red flag was silent. I lived in the courtyard of the organ on the first floor of the building, but I did not see the buildings in the moonlight and the darkness. I could not see the outline and stabbed the dark sky. This late spring night, I am hard to sleep, simply walked in the yard. Night cool, I saw the garden after the flashing light flow, looming, and sometimes hear the children crying. Listen to the voices of distant voices, like San Mao’s ”olive tree“: ”Do not ask where I come from, my hometown in the distance, why