一条石板路铺在记忆的街上。濛濛烟雨中,一块块石板如琴键排列开去,延伸向前方,述说着那条不知始自何年何月的老街,以及老街的记忆。街路两侧生满青苔,路中间的石板却被踩得光滑泛亮。我走在那“琴键”上,脚步弹奏出一串陌生而忐忑不安的音符。我想,跫跫的脚步声是我走出的一支曲子,一支我今生无法听懂的曲子。那街,在长江边上,在泸州。二十五年过去,我已实在记不起那街的名字和位置,甚至记不起它的细致模样,只有一块块水湿的青石板延伸在我的记忆里。窄窄的街巷长长的,幽深,曲曲折折,就像一支曲曲折折的乡曲,藏在蜀南的深山里,藏在那个偏僻、古老而又不安分的小城。 A stone road shop in the memory of the street. Amidst the misty rain, a piece of stone, such as the arrangement of keys to go away, extending to the front, that does not know from what year from the old street, and the memory of the streets. Street full of moss on both sides of the street, the middle of the stone was stepped on the smooth and bright. I walked there, “Piano Keys”, playing a string of strange and uneasy notes. I think the slightest sound of footsteps is a piece of music that I walked out of, a song I can not understand in my life. That street, on the edge of the Yangtze River, in Luzhou. Twenty-five years have passed, I really can not remember the street name and location, can not even remember its meticulous appearance, only a piece of wet quartzite extends in my memory. Narrow streets long, deep, twists and turns, like a twists and turns of the song, hidden in the mountains of southern Sichuan, hidden in the remote, ancient and restless town.