冬春的北京多风。冬天的风刮起来没日没夜。风从西北来,逾过房顶殿脊穿街过巷,灰土漫天。小沙粒专往行人脸上抽,电线呜呜作响,铁制的空罐头盒贴街墙根儿撞荡着停不住脚儿,杨树倔强着身躯冲风去的方向往回拽枝子,铺面的招幌不知拧了几十个转儿。风静澄明,太阳升起来,一切复于安静。包子摊揭屉的热气慢慢飘荡在匆忙行走的路人 Beijing windy spring and winter. Winter wind blows day and night. The wind from the northwest, more than the roof temple pier through the streets, dusty sky. Small sand pedestrians face pumping to the face, whistling wire, empty cans of iron cans sticking to the street cantilevered children, poplar stubborn body blowing to the direction of pulling branches, I do not know the beaten track dozens of twists and turns. Wind calm, the sun rises, everything complex in quiet. Steam buns steamed dumplings stand slowly walking in the hurry passers-by