总是在清晨、午后或者夜晚,会有几次的润墨挥毫。湿漉漉的毛笔,搁在湿漉漉的砚台边,随时等待的是一张张柔和的宣纸。一片飘动的白云,在白云上舞动的魂灵,还有千年历史的回声,一幅书法展开了。灵动的文字间,似乎有编钟的余音袅袅传来,慢慢开启了历史的大门。汉家长衣宽袖的文人雅士们,居庙堂之高的官吏们,多少辞赋与奏折,多少檄文与颂词,摩肩 Always in the morning, afternoon or night, there will be several moistening brush. Wet brush, resting on the wet Yantai, waiting for a soft rice paper. A fluttering white clouds, the soul dancing on the clouds, as well as the echo of the millennium, a calligraphy started. Smart text, it seems that there are chimes bells chime, slowly opened the door to history. Han slender wide-sleeved scholar and gentleman, high temple officials, how much Fu Fu and memorials, how many prose and eulogy, shoulder