那一年秋末,还未见到南飞的大雁掠过天穹,亦未得赏枫叶满地的艳丽,雨便匆匆忙忙地来了。雨是诗里的细雨,人却不是画中撑着油纸伞的姑娘。天空灰蒙蒙的一片,脚下的道路泥泞,飞驰的汽车溅起一阵水花,淋湿了路边的野猫。我看着这一切,恍然意识到,不是所有南方的城市都有江南的诗情画意。我走近一辆空的三轮车,正四处张望着寻找车夫,便听见有人叫着:“来了!来了!”声音响亮而 That year late autumn, yet to see the flying goose of the South fly over the sky, did not appreciate the beautiful maple leaves everywhere, the rain came in a hurry. The rain is the rain of poetry, but people are not the girl holding oil paper umbrella. A gray sky, muddy road at the foot of speeding cars splashed a splash of water, wet the wild cat on the roadside. I looked at all this and realized that not all the cities in the south had the poetic and poignant features of Jiangnan. I approached an empty tricycle and looked around looking for the driver, and I heard someone calling out: “Here! Come!”