鸟路过,说几句闲话,飞了。风路过,摇几下草木,走了。云路过,投几封天书,散了。时光的影子移动着。但幽谷没有时光,幽谷在历史之外,在时代之外,在人迹之外。幽谷是时光的隐士,隐逸在人世之外。岩石肃穆,涧水凛冽;花草尚未被命名,正好安于无名的自在;虫儿尚未被归类,正好在昆虫学之外逍遥;野蘑菇穿上一生里只穿一次的好看衣裳,野美一阵,就很快藏了,怕被谁没收了这份野。厚厚的苔藓,幽蓝的坐垫,但并不期待谁来落座,苔藓自己坐着自己,顺便接待了永恒,这一坐,就是万古千秋。幽草的睫毛,掩映着泉眼, Passing by the birds, saying a few gossip, fly. After the wind, shaking a few plants, gone. Cloud pass, vote a few bibles, scattered. The shadow of time moves. However, there is no time Glen, Glen in history, outside the times, outside the human tracks. Glen is a time hermit, seclusion in the world outside. The rocks are solemn and the water is cold; the flowers have not been named yet, just in the nameless ease; the insects have not been classified yet, just outside entomology; wild mushrooms put on wearing good-looking clothes once in a lifetime, , Quickly hide, fear of being confiscated by this field. Thick moss, faint cushions, but who do not expect to seize, moss themselves sitting on their own, by the way the reception of eternity, this is sitting, is the eternal ages. You grass eyelashes, set off springs,