第一次邂逅箫,是在乌镇的石板路上。阴天,伴着江南独有的湿润,似乎整个天地都笼在一层氤氲的水汽里。当时还不懂得什么叫感伤,只是在湿漉漉的空气里,看着乌镇古老的青石板,河边如烟似雾的柳条和河中小小的乌篷船,莫名的有种想哭的冲动。就在这时,传来了悠扬而哀怨的乐音。我随声寻去,巷子口坐着一位老人,正在吹一支褐色的长竹管。音符缓缓的从孔中散逸,一缕一缕的,像扯不断的丝线,听着让人揪心。就像这阴沉的天气,欲雨不雨的,就这么吊着人心,让人沉浸在落泪的悲伤里无法自拔。老人没有询问我的来意,我也没有打断他的吹奏,像是有一种旧识的默契——我且吟来你且听,不须微狎共相亲。 The first encounter flute, is the stone road in Wuzhen. Cloudy, accompanied by the unique southern moist, it seems that the whole world are caged in a staggering water vapor. At that time did not know what is sentimental, but in the wet air, looking at the old black quartzite in Wuzhen, river smoke like foggy wicker and small river awning boats, inexplicable kind of want to cry impulse. At this moment, melodious and sad music came. I went searching, an old man sat in the alley, is blowing a long brown bamboo tube. Notes slowly dissipated from the hole, a ray of thread, like pulling the continuous thread, listening worried. Like this gloomy weather, to rain does not rain, it is so hanging the hearts of people immersed in tears of sadness unable to extricate themselves. The old man did not ask me what I wanted, nor did I interrupt his playing, as if there was a tacit understanding of old knowledge - I balked at you and listened to me, and did not have to be lenient with melancholy.