盛夏七点钟的阳光照在雕花旧木床上,照见尘埃在光线里浮沉,水母般忽明忽暗,也照见一个女婴的落生。如同一颗种子,被飞鸟衔来,又随意丢弃,我落生在一个叫楚门的江南小镇,在阳光、灰尘与血水奶水混合的气息里,发芽。我相信,江南的每一个婴儿,第一次睁开眼睛时,一定会看到树,至少,也闻到过树。树就在屋外,从老屋的每一个缝隙里,渗进来暗绿色的呼吸,提前让一个婴儿感受泥土的味 Sunlight at seven o’clock in the summer carved in the old wooden bed, according to the dust floating in the light of the sun, jellyfish flickering, but also see a baby girl’s birth. As a seed, it was taken by flying birds and was discarded at will. I was born in a small town in the south of the Yangtze River called Chu Mun. It germinated in a mixture of sunshine, dust and blood and milk. I believe every infant in Jiangnan will see the tree for the first time and at least, he will smell the tree. The tree is outside the house, infiltrating a dark green breath from every crevice in the house, allowing a baby to feel the taste of the earth in advance