梦里有条熟悉的河水,记忆的夜航船总是载着我脆弱的情怀,悠悠地驶入那个幽秘的角落。每每醒来,一声薄叹,而彼时的感觉竟说不清是欣慰还是惆怅。也许真像席慕蓉说的那样,故乡的歌真的是一支清远的笛,那些月华如水的夜晚里总要凄凄响起。故乡日渐陈旧的面貌带给我的是一种模糊的怅惘,仿佛那雾气蒙蒙里的挥手别离。那支清远的笛不仅在月光中吹出了我的思乡愁绪,还频频地响在我的梦里,那般清凄哀婉,那般酸碎人心。于是故乡的面貌就像是展起的炊烟一般,袅袅地升在心头,最后结成了一种模糊的怅惘,挥之不去。 There is a familiar river in the dream. The memory of the night boat always carries my fragile feelings and leisurely enters the secret corner. Every time I wake up, I sigh, but when I feel it, I feel happy or jealous. Perhaps as Xi Murong said, the song of his hometown is really a Qingyuan whistle, and there are always buzzing in those nights that are like water. The old look of my hometown gave me a kind of vague ambiguity, as if it was a misty wave. The Qingyuan flute not only blew my homesickness in the moonlight, but also frequently rang in my dreams. It was so clear and sorrowful, so sour and sour. So the appearance of the hometown is like the smoke of the exhibition. It rises in the heart, and finally it forms a vague ambiguity.