我趴在窗沿上,看着金黄色的秋天,阳光在路面上刻下树的形态。他来了,他出现在路的尽头,渐渐走近,又消失在路的尽头。他的眼睛被树影挡住了,但我知道那是孩子的眼睛。孩子的眼睛是深黑而清亮的,就像他身边的眼睛,停在屋檐上的眼睛,在空中盘旋的眼睛,停在他肩膀上的眼睛。它们眼睛周围还有灰色、黑色、白色的羽毛,尖利的脚爪和嘴,嘴里发出的叫声,叫声也此起彼伏,编织成一片缠绕的网。还有翅膀在我窗玻璃上的掠影,窗台上白色的新鲜的排泄物。他已经在很多个秋天的午后出现又消失,他的举动告诉我他是放鸽子的孩子。他有着黝黑的脸和瘦小的 I was lying on the window, watching the golden autumn, the sun carved the shape of the tree on the road. He came, he appeared at the end of the road, approached, and disappeared at the end of the road. His eyes were blocked by the shadow, but I knew it was the child’s eyes. The child’s eyes are dark and clear, just like the eyes around him, the eyes resting on the eaves, the eyes circling in the air, the eyes resting on his shoulders. Around their eyes were gray, black, white feathers, sharp claws and mouth, the sound of their mouths, sounds also one after another, woven into a winding network. Glimpses of wings on my windowpane, white fresh waste on the ledge. He had disappeared and disappeared on many autumn afternoons, and his move told me he was a child of pigeons. He has a dark face and a thin face