"Drip -" spring water ripples, the rain fell happily, like a branch of the ink brush, ink and colorful point in the evening of the green stone streets. The long, ancient alley is like an iron lute. "Drip, drip, drip, drip--" Raindrops on the umbrella jumping, like lightly turning the piano axis, string sound burst; "Da da--" Raindrops into a line, falling from the roof tiles, like fingertips lightly picking, strings and strings to hide; rain gradually, dense raindrops splashing waves on the slate, like a cacophony of strings, the song to the climax; Suddenly raindrops pattering, like a small string cut and cut, the love of a long time. Raindrops, raindrops, raindrops intertwined, the sound of strings wailing, miscellaneous playing sound urgent ...... The sound of the rain gradually rest, the end of the song, people will not, a few grains of rain, sliding down the eaves, ticking, like a lute strings stop, the sound of the aftermath reverberates.
The first time I saw this, I was in the middle of the night, and I was in the middle of the night. The old alley is covered by a layer of light, the stone road is also flooded with green light. I put away my umbrella and walked slowly forward. The stone road winds and twists, both sides are short houses, white walls and black tiles, staggered located, occasionally exposed eaves corner, in the gray wall cast a shadow. Time in the ancient alley as if through a thousand years, the breath of history from the stone seeped out from the cracks flow, there are still traces of wheelbarrows pressed on the green stone plate, like turning a yellowed book, tracing the time left behind by the fine grain. Walking to the end of the alley, I saw the ancient theater surrounded by spring water, and the actors on the stage held the pipa and slowly retired. The curtain fell, the audience on the stage disappointed, can not bear to leave.? The end. The setting sun will be the last dash of afterglow sprinkled down, exit the stage of the sky. Two yellow neon rainbow, flashing on the roofs of the two ancient alleys. Pedestrians on the road accelerated their pace, the vendors on the side of the alley are ready to close their stalls. The spring water reflects the dotted lights of the ancient theater. Ascending the green hill on the pavilion, looking into the distance, the bright starry sky and the city lights reflect, I seem to be placed in the car window scenery, time in this slowed down, too much in the hustle and bustle of the floating souls in the car down here, looking for a trace of peace, for a wisp of tea.
? I left from the alley, the ear is the eaves of the wind chimes ringing.