2015年8月15日,已是秋后。从武汉飞往成都,处处是明晃晃的阳光,如芒在背。城市的人群穿梭不息,来去都是热烘烘的气流,盛夏的火炉依然炙烤着这个穷途末路的季节。在秋风渐起却终是名不副实的秋光里,我们渴求着一片清凉。在那个初来乍到的午后,我们将目标犹疑地指向杜甫草堂。“八月秋高风怒号,卷我屋上三重茅。茅飞渡江洒江郊,高者挂罥长林梢”。千年风雨,万根茅草,能留下的除了缅怀,还 August 15, 2015, is autumn. From Wuhan to Chengdu, everywhere is a bright sunshine, such as Mount back. City crowd endless shuttle, come and go are hot air, summer stove is still roasting the dead end of the season. In the fall but gradually the nameless autumn light, we crave a cool. At that first arrived afternoon, we pointed hesitantly toward Du Fu Thatched Cottage. “August autumn high wind anger, roll my house Sanqian. Maofu ferry sprinkled Jiangjiao, the high hanging long Lin shoots.” Thousands of years of wind and rain, Wan grass that can be left in addition to memory, also