我带着朋友奔跑在乡间公路。秋,已深了,薄薄的阳光折射山上的色彩,连风吹过都像拖着五彩的尾巴。壶源溪正值枯水期,不少地方,河床已成了一片乱石滩。窈口段却不是,它仍然绿得像一块碧玉,风捏起的皴皱,像是玉石上自然的纹理。母亲说,老潘等了我们好久。说他不时抬头看墙上的钟,又到门口张望,转进转出,念叨着“十一点了还不来!”终于等不及,去河边了。老潘一向 I run with friends on the country road. Autumn, has been deep, thin sun refraction mountain color, even the wind blowing like a colorful tail. Potash Creek is dry season, in many places, the river bed has become a rocky beach.窈 mouth section is not, it is still green like a jasper, the wind pinch wrinkled, like the natural texture of jade. The mother said Lao Pan waited for us for a long time. He said he looked up from time to time to see the wall clock, looked to the door again, turn out, talking about “eleven o’clock not come!” Finally can not wait, go to the river. Old pan has always been