阳春三月,别处已是山清水秀,鲜花耀眼,这片小山却显得突兀苍凉,仍是肃杀的寒冬景象,连一棵像样的树木都没有,丛丛荒草,簇簇荆棘,片片拉拉,毫无生气地呆长着,使得山头像半秃的疤痢头。星星点点的不知名野花,害羞似的在草丛中探头探脑。正是春游踏青的好时节,这里却少见人影,显得异常的空荡寂寥。可他一个城里饶有名气,曾游历过不少名山大川的中年画家,却是昨日离去今又来。春寒料峭,浓浓的雾气濡湿了他的头发、睫毛,莹莹露珠浸湿了他的鞋子和裤管。他不耐寒冷似的双手插在外套衣兜里,脚步急促,来来回回不停地走动,像一只刚刚被人逮捉放进笼子里的兔子,并不时 Yangchun March, elsewhere is a beautiful, flowers dazzling, but this piece of hill appears desolate desolation, is still the scene of the cold winter, not even a decent trees, Cong Cong tufts, clusters of thorns, tablets pull, milli Lifeless to stay long, making the hills like half-naked scars dilapidated head. Unknown little wild flowers, shy like the probe in the grass exploration brain. It is a good time to spring outing here, but there are rare figures, it seems unusual empty solitude. But he has a famous reputation in the city, has traveled a lot of middle-aged painter Okawa, but left yesterday and today again. Spring chill, thick mist wet his hair, eyelashes, Ying Ying dew soaked his shoes and trousers. He was cold and cold-blooded hands in his coat pocket, hurried to come and go, walking around like a rabbit who had just been caught in a cage, not from time to time