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在江南,我始终走不进父亲种植的那片竹林。对于竹子,我处于一种远距离的仰望或者审视,它于我,或如千年的深潭,或如捉摸不透的阵风,空行处唯有水声一般漫漶过来:竹林深似海。这也不是雨打竹林的声响,猜不透道不出其中深藏的未知和遮蔽的隐语。我等凡夫俗子,不会似东坡那般把竹子高于肉,我也无法痴狂到如晋代王子猷,即使远游异地他乡,仍不忘令仆人种竹。路过他人竹林,竟会梦游般不由自主地踏入林中。他的眼中只有竹,赫
In the south of the Yangtze River, I always walked away from the bamboo planted by my father. For bamboo, I am in a long distance looking up or looking at it. It floats in me, or in the depths of a millennium, or in the gust of wind and gust. This is not the sound of rain and bamboo, guessed it can not escape the hidden unknown hidden and hidden language. I wait for ordinary people, not like Dongpo that bamboo is higher than the meat, I can not be crazy to Prince Jin Dynasty, even if far away from home, still do not forget to make the servants planted bamboo. Passing others bamboo forest, even sleepwalking involuntarily into the forest. His eyes only bamboo, hehe