我一直没有想起过什么,此时,晚秋中那棵离我最近的香樟在迷离的午后缓慢地摇曳,微薰的空气中,一些细碎的光线穿过树冠的缝隙,落到我的裙褶上,留下令人遐想的小小的斑点。闭上眼我一如从前那样带着天生的溺爱把手伸出。这些过程其实是轻的、无声的,可我仍然承接到了它秘密的隐痛和颤栗,像来自大地的肺腑来自一切事物根部那样的切肤。一直以来对那些树木状态不一的枝条有着一种偏执。山冈上、旷野里、大街旁、小巷里它 I never thought of anything, at this time, the late autumn camphor near me in the blurred afternoon slowly swaying, micro-smoked air, some crushing light through the canopy crevice, fell to my pleated On, leaving little reverie little spots. Close my eyes as I used to do with innocent doting hand out. These processes are actually light, silent, but I still inherit its secret pain and trembling, like the heart of the earth comes from the roots of everything. There has always been a paranoid twist on the branches of trees. On the hills, in the wilderness, next to the main street, in the alley