我喜欢眼前飞舞着的上海的雪花。它才是“雪白”的白色,也才是花一样的美丽。它好像比空气还轻,并不从半空里落下来,而是被空气从地面卷起来的。然而它又像是活的生物,像夏天黄昏时候的成群的蚊蚋,像春天酿蜜时期的蜜蜂,它忙碌地飞翔,或上或下,或快或慢,或粘着人身,或拥入窗隙,仿佛自有它自己的意志和目的。它静默无声。但在它飞舞的时候,我们似乎听见了千百万人马的呼号和脚步声,大海汹涌的波涛声,森 I like the snowflakes of Shanghai flying in front of me. It is the “white” white, it is the same beautiful flowers. It seems lighter than air, does not fall from mid-air, but is rolled up by the air from the ground. Yet it is like a living creature, like groups of mosquitoes in summer dusk, like bees in the spring honey, which fly busy, up or down, fast or slow, or cling to the body, or embrace Window, as if its own will and purpose. It is silent. But as it fluttered, we seemed to hear the call sign and footsteps of millions of people, the raging waves of the sea,