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过了梦真桥,有两条明朝古道。一条五百年,一条六百年。在齐云山上,都属晚辈。道中,空无人迹,连落叶和飞鸟,也很难碰见。几句回响,从我的脚步声里,飕飕地漏了出来。这回响,层层叠叠的,仿佛绕圈的麻绳,系满了我的心事。多年来,对安徽的情感,全来自于皖南。对皖南的眷恋,全来自于山水。而对山水的怀想,全来自于一个人。这几天,很冷,滴水成冰。如果不是有期盼、有思念、有先前的约定,我是不会深夜坐着火车来到这片山里的。
After a dream bridge, there are two Ming Dynasty trail. A five hundred years, a six hundred years. In Qi Yunshan, are juniors. Road, empty no track, even the leaves and birds, it is difficult to meet. A few reverberations, from my footsteps, shyly leaked out. This ring back, layers of twine, as if wound around the rope, full of my heart. Over the years, the feelings of Anhui, all from southern Anhui. The southern Anhui’s attachment, all from the landscape. The dream of landscape, all from a person. These days, it’s cold and dripping ice. If there is no hope, there are thoughts, there are previous agreements, I will not be late into the mountains by train.