雨,你可曾听过?冷雨,点点滴滴,听在诗人的耳里,敲在散文家的心上,凄然,怅然。那萦绕在笔端的,是雨,更是悠长的记忆——这记忆,凝着千年的古韵,蕴着故乡的情思,却终于要戛然而止,来到“没有音韵的雨季”。今日的雨呵,还“可以听”吗? Rain, you have heard? Cold rain, bit by bit, listening to the poet’s ear, knocking on the heart of the essayist, sadly, sadly. It was rain that lingered in the pen, and it was a long memory. This memory, condensing the ancient rhyme of the millennium and embodying the sentiments of hometown, finally came to an abrupt end and came to the “rainy season without rhyme”. Today’s rain Oh, but also “can hear” it?