立冬的第三天前夜,开始下雨。我坐在桌前给阿飞写信,听见雨噼里啪啦地停不住地下,恍如听到冬天的歌声,飞扬在我耳边,空旷不已。我听着这个冬天的第一场雨,在夜里格外地沉重,像每一滴雨声都击起了心底最柔软的灰尘,浸染了一大片的寒冷。想起阿飞的那句话:“冬天都到了,还有什么好说的。”原来,很多时候很多东西不是不会到,只是到的时候没有意识。 On the eve of the third day of the winter, it began to rain. I sat at the table and wrote to Ah Fei. I heard the rain falling on the ground. For example, I heard the song of winter and flew in my ear. It was empty. I listened to the first rain of this winter and was extraordinarily heavy at night, as every rain hit the softest dust on the bottom of my heart and soaked in a large cold. Think of A Fei’s saying: “Winter is here. What else can I say?” It turns out that many things are not going to come, but there is no consciousness when they arrive.