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每个爱书的人都会有自己的书山。那些或陡峭或蜿蜒的山间小径,密密布满着我们深深浅浅的足迹。我们常常会为足迹的重叠而欣喜,因为探寻与分享,是读书最大的愉悦。我想象着当年的沈从文,架着圆框眼镜,身着灰衫从我身旁略带羞涩的走过。他是去赶上那趟开往省城的小船么?当他沿江北上,双脚第一次站在北京皇城的土地上时,会不会回望江南,这用木头制成在崖壁之上的悠悠吊脚楼?他带走了自己的风华与回忆,却留下了翠翠的山歌回响,徒留我在时光的迷雾中徘徊不去,暗自神伤。
Everyone who loves a book will have their own book mountain. Those or steep or winding mountain trails, densely covered with our deep and shallow footprint. We often delighted with overlapping footprints, because exploring and sharing are the greatest pleasure of reading. I imagine Shen Congwen year, framed round glasses, wearing a gray shirt from me slightly shy past. Is he going to catch the boat leading to the provincial capital? When he walked northward and his feet stood for the first time on the land of Beijing Imperial City, he would not look back at Jiangnan. On the long stilted floor? He took his own style and memories, but left a green song echoed, leaving me in the fog of time wandering, secretly sad.