山读大学一年级,大约正是一曲“冬天里的一把火”使无数追星少年竞折腰的年月。那个星期天,呼啸的北风摇撼着紧闭的门窗,席卷着漫天的飞雪,地上铺了白茫茫的一层。 这么冷的星期天,山一向是不太愿意出门的。今天,他却匆匆背上大背包,顶着凛冽的寒风,踩过积雪的校园小路,挤上了去菜市场的公共汽车。 Shan read the first year of college, is about a song “a fire in the winter,” so countless stargazing juvenile juvenile vicissitudes waist years. That Sunday, the whistling north wind shook the windows and doors tightly closed, sweeping the sky swept snow, the ground was paved with a vast layer of white. On such a cold Sunday, the mountain is always not willing to go out. Today, he is hurriedly carrying a large backpack, carrying cold winds, stepping on a snowy campus path and squeezing a bus to the vegetable market.