清晨,汀江像一条流淌着的温泉,江面上曼妙如纱,雾气飘飘荡荡。渡口上,一艘老旧的木船摆动着船尾,漾起一圈圈波纹,水浪击打着船头,发出有节奏的声响。汤老汉像往常一样,天刚蒙蒙亮就早早地坐在东岸码头的渡船上,端着水烟筒,悠闲地吐着烟圈儿。在水汽氤氲中,眼前的一切,仿佛是一幅泼墨山水画。西岸,红石墟笼罩在一片白茫茫的雾气中。群山如黛,雾气袅袅 In the morning, Tingjiang is like a flowing hot spring, graceful like a yarn on the river, the fog flutters. Ferry on the crossing, an old wooden boat swaying aft, rippling ripples, water waves hitting the bow, issued a rhythmic sound. As usual, the soup old man sat on the ferry boat on the east coast pier just before dawn, holding a hookah and leisurely spitting on it. In the water vapor, in front of everything, it seems like an ink landscape painting. West Bank, Hong Shi Lu enveloped in a white fog. Mountains such as Dai, mist curl