Live in a small house which is near the river. Often hear the most is the whistle of the ships that are on the river. Especially in the dead of night of time, this voice through the dust settled, the mist the diffuse the night sky, can clear to reverberate in the ear. Night after night I am in such a voice to sleep.
This is a drift of voice, but I like it. And in the city of noise to frustrating, by contrast, the voice of the simple sense of the full of life. Travel ships came back, going into quiet harbor, the whistle and with dust, however is bright and cheerful.
That ship, I have seen the voice of the drift from there. Anchor is always short ah, the person’s life, more like a ship sailing only. Only wish every time the start will have a solemn oath. And when returning, can give you a resounding answer.
Those a busy crowd, those a rush about comes back home late urbanite, whether the voice heard the drift? I don’t know whether to hear a little bit of enthusiasm, voice elegy and hope for? I think, in the city may have only hope and listening to the surface of the whistle on, can let the person’s heart has the space and imagination into the room. However the city skies were cut too thin, grey face only end up face; well, the voice of the left adrift, reverberation, let into the thoughts and come around.
My thoughts in the voice of the drift to the floated in the coming again, it can go very far very far, far to childhood and the morning dew. In reality, things will change into the dust.
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2011年7月13日星期三
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