秋风,有一阵没一阵地吹着鳞次栉比的住宅楼,在这秋日的黄昏里,径直吹进这不起眼的小窗。天未黑,小书屋已点起了橘黄的灯。窗内,一张原木色书桌倚在窗旁,桌上打开着一本微微泛黄的线装书,散发着隐约的、潮湿发霉的味道。书中夹着一片火红锯齿的枫叶。桌角的鱼缸里,几条穿着花衣裳的金鱼,呆呆地漂在微弱的光线里。枯燥的阅读何时才能罢休呢?我连连叹息。轻轻打开窗,触及窗棂的刹那,指尖微凉。看着窗外,远处,缓缓飘来密密的厚云,风吹云压下,一片片 Autumn wind, while not burst burst of row upon row of residential buildings, in the autumn evening, straight into this humble window. The sky is dark, the small house has lit up the orange lights. Window, a log color desk leaning against the window, the table opened a slightly yellowed wire installed book, exudes a vague, moist moldy taste. The book is clutched with a maple leaf of red serrated. In the fish tank at the corner of the table, a few goldfish wearing flowers and clothes drifted softly into the faint light. When to read dry readiness to give up? I repeated sighs. Gently open the window, touch the moment of the window, fingertips slightly cool. Looked out the window, in the distance, slowly thick clouds floated, the clouds under pressure, a piece