这样的藤和花,仙风道骨,一年只开放一次。我站在九曲桥上,一低头,就看到那些花,苞瓣洇润,铺陈水里,月牙形的池榭里,倒映一泓魅影。芍药、牡丹、木樨……还有那些说不出名字的花,临风摇曳,不知何人所栽,也不知抚慰过谁的眼神?古宅里很寂静。在静的深处,才有那些喧闹的花。先是几颗素色绣球,时光里的球,在墙头上来回滚动。那些围墙上的青砖老了,类似松动的牙。寂寞的绣球,开得蓬松,随风摇曳, This rattan and flowers, Sage wind bone, only once a year. I stood on the nine Jiuqiao, a bow, I saw those flowers, buds Ruo Run, shop in the water, Crescent-shaped pool pavilion, reflecting a Hong Phantom of the Opera. Peony, peony, clogs ... ... there are those who can not tell the name of the flowers, the wind swaying, I do not know who planted, I do not know who soothe the eyes? In the depths of silence, there are noisy flowers. First a few plain hydrangeas, the ball in the time, scroll back and forth on the wall. The walls of the old brick, similar to loose teeth. Lonely hydrangea, open fluffy, swaying in the wind,