又是一节语文课,老师捧着书,万年不变的枯燥降临课堂,环顾四周,同学们意兴阑珊地打着呵欠,而我,早已抑制不住思绪的飘忽,任它飞向远处……“今天我们学习余光中先生的《听听那冷雨》……”耳畔仍是老师古板的声音,而我的思绪却不知去向何处,只觉得自己如入仙境,如烟如雾的细雨成了这仙境迷蒙的外衣。那雨似细针,若落叶,那样细,这般轻,轻轻地抚摸我的皮肤,浸进我的胸膛,流淌至我的心扉,荡涤我心底的灰尘,好清爽。做个深呼吸,闻 It was also a language lesson. The teacher held the book. The boring, never-ending dying of the classroom, looked around. The classmates yawned happily, and I could not restrain the erratic thoughts and let it fly to the distance. ......"Today we learn from Mr. Yu Guangzhong’s “Listen to the cold rain”...” “The ear is still the teacher’s old-fashioned voice, but my thoughts don’t know where I’m going and I just feel like I’m in Wonderland. The drizzle of the fog became the misty coat of this fairyland. The rain was like fine needles. If it was fallen, so thin, it was light, gently stroked my skin, plunged into my chest, and flowed into my heart, and cleaned the dust in my heart, so it was refreshing. Take a deep breath and smell