独倚寒窗,卷书在手。我沉浸在对冬季的感悟之中,手中这本书则充当了倾诉对象。我拿起笔,在那扉页上留下几行淡墨。正值此时,听见窗外有声响。心想应该会是雪霰,于是似信却疑地伸出手去。果然,那细沙似的小冰晶陆陆续续地拍打下来,并迅速融化在我略带温热的手里,我甚至能微妙地感觉到它化成白气,冉冉飘去。 With cold windows, books are in hand. I was immersed in the sentiments of winter. The book in my hands served as the object of conversation. I picked up the pen and left a few lines of light ink on the page. At this time, we heard a noise outside the window. I thought that it would be a snow slug, and she extended his hand in a suspicious manner. Sure enough, the little ice crystal slapped on the ground one after another, and quickly melted in my slightly warm hands. I could even subtly feel it turn into white air and drift away.