时值盛夏,没有酷暑和炎热,英格兰风雨交加。密布的阴云和细密的小雨交织出一幅凄冷阴郁的泼墨山水画,如同毛笔蘸饱了墨汁儿滴落在宣纸上,晕开深深浅浅的大朵娇花。坐在开往温德米尔的火车上,车厢里很安静,火车穿过一个个隧道的声音显得那么清晰。我双手托腮望着窗外的树木、农田、羊群,那些悄然晃过的一片片金黄油菜花田、一座座柔和起伏的小山丘、草场上几匹孤寂的欧洲矮马和悠闲阔步的奶牛,把这段旅程的前奏包装得如此祥和、温馨。时间凝固在那个刹 Summer, no heat and heat, England stormy. Dark clouds and dense rain intertwined a cold and gloomy ink landscape painting, like a brush dipped in ink children dripping on rice paper, dizzy deep shallow shallow flower petals. Sitting in a train bound for Windermere, the carriage was quiet and the sound of the train passing through each of the tunnels seemed clear. With my hands on my goggles, I looked out the window of the trees, fields, flocks of sheep, the golden canola fields that quietly passed, a gently rolling hills, a few lonely European pony pasture and leisurely stride the cows The prelude to this journey packed so peaceful and warm. Time is frozen in that brake