我自小便有个关于江南的梦。在梦里,江南当是下着烟雨的。雨丝细得几乎看不见,从那青色的天空轻飘飘落下,便叩在了那不知多少双绣花鞋踏过的青砖上,发出如同绣花针击在石板上的金石铮鸣声。那狭窄的、长长的深巷里,远近飘着几柄油纸 Since childhood, I have a dream about Jiangnan. In the dream, Jiangnan was under the misty rain. Rain silk thin and almost invisible, from the blue sky floating down, they knocked on the blue brick that I do not know how many pairs of embroidered shoes stepped on, issued the same as the embroidery needle hit the stone Zhengzheng sound. That narrow, long deep lane, near and far floating a few handle oil paper