吹箫的人这箫声并不荚,我心里却“格登”一下,周围的一切都不闻不见了。城市刚刚经历了一场大雪,融化的雪水不声不响地漫过去,在很远的地方汇成长长的溪流,而朔风吹得正紧。那人就肃然地站在大门外头,一支洞箫架在十根手指里,迎着过往的行人,忘我地吹着。路人的目 Flute is not pod this flute sound, but my heart, “Gordon” look, everything around you are not heard of. The city had just experienced a heavy snowfall, melted snow drifting quietly, far into the convergence of long streams, and the New Wave is blowing tight. The man stood solemnly outside the door, a hole in the fingers of a flute, facing the past pedestrians, selflessly blowing. Passersby’s purpose