路过花店,檐头底下见到一盆报春花,不觉拿到手里来欣赏。这不是因为在东京这样的闹市里,见到报春花,觉得真稀罕,而为的是我怀恋起很久以前,孩子时候,在家乡的山野里见惯的报春花。花店老板娘以为我要买,出来招呼,我只得道歉说,回来买吧,就走开了;可是萦回着报春花,追慕我母亲的声容,往事有如泉水一般涌上心头来。 Passing the flower shop, the top of the head saw a pot of primroses, and felt it in his hands. This is not because it was really rare to see the primroses in a busy city like Tokyo, but for the primrose I used to love when I was nostalgic, when I was a child, in the mountains in my hometown. The florist’s wife thought she was going to buy it and say hello to it. I only had to apologize and say it, come back and buy it, and walk away; but the primrose came back and pursued my mother’s voice. The past is like spring water.