Wait for a bus

On a lacquered table with many reflections. The gilt spine created a low tunnel on the table top. , the pages on either side form a complete symmetry. There was nothing to restrain it, nor to change the odd number in the corner to an even number, or even to an odd number. A smooth, smooth hair that has been combed by a beautiful hand. It should be exactly where the half is.

The afternoon wore off. Like a cup of tea that has been brewed too many times, even if the leaves are excellent.

The clouds come from the east. From the west, from the south, from the north, the clouds from all directions. The clouds will disperse in all directions.

There are too many shadows on the late car, yes, there are too many soot on the late car. The wind and sun poured the trees on both sides of the car, making the car wet inside and outside. So the car ran for its life. Yes, the watch is silent. Like fallen flowers, the sound of the watch fills a room and floats up and down like catkins.

As long as it blows, no matter what the wind.

The wind is blowing spring, so light.

The bus passed one stop, then another.

He said to himself, "Please sit down, Sir. You're tired. Yes, you are very busy. You're always running about, are you?"

And cooed a smile to himself. And don't smile, just sit. The chair is a good host, how sincere it is, how attentive. Especially for a single person, a single traveler to the end of the day.

Sit in the most comfortable and natural position as the leaf handle holds the leaves. Get your feet off the floor. Like sitting on the water, sitting on the clouds, the clouds and the water flow gently under me.

Even if I chose a book to read, I seemed to study very hard. I read most of it in one sitting.

Books help us move through our days, turning page after page through our fingers.

We used to read aloud by the lamp in the old days. If my voice is higher than yours, you look at me, head down with a brush of hair, with a higher voice to catch me. We read on the grass, under the tree, in the river, in the flowers, on the train, still in the waiting room. You see, the shadow of the cloud goes over my book, you see, it flies, over the meadow. The meadow was full of cud, and the wind, flowing in the shadow of clouds, washed his back, and washed the ringing and ringing of the bells in his neck.

My tongue ran along my lips, the lingering taste of the sugar I had just eaten.

It's still early. Oh, the words are gone. They flew away. Out of the room like a pecking sparrow, leaving a blur of white. Why? It was dark in a minute or two. There was a sound of feathers on the shingles, and it was raining outside the window. A day like jade dust drops of water. Huangmei weather in Jiangnan. The big lights in front of the train must look great in the rain. A whistle, the train press past, the sky is so gray, it seems strange white. The white clouds from the train may not be the same color under the silky blue sky. The people on the bus won't know. As the window fell, the finest cong from the glass sucked like rain into the velvet curtains.

He took off a small leather bag and wondered if he wanted to change into a pair of shoes at the next stop. When the box was opened, something flew out with a man's thoughts in it. Thinking, the bag is closed for no reason, like a clever kitten, like a ball of the head of a kitten, sleeping between the owner's knees. The car was dark, and some suitcases were like mountains and trees in a sea of clouds in a dream. What can I do for you? 7 Smoke a cigarette. The red flame of cigarette ends flies like fireflies among the bushes of May.

-- Din lights on, Sir! -- Oh.

Smoke a cigarette, cigarette end like fireflies fly in May so much.

"Read again! Days are dark, fork is not allowed to open the light, do not cherish the eyes. I'll drive."

"You drive, I won't watch. Look at the big star beside the blue sky! Don't drive."

"You see, let the stars accompany you, always accompany you."

- slammed the window shut, and drew the curtains.

"Why are you laughing? I'm not a star!"

You are not a star. Stars sometimes fall, and in space they become a piece of fire, a piece of ash, leaving nothing. What does not fall is not a star.

The bus took us as far as it could go.

The lights are on, miss! -- Oh

The lights of the car came out of the Windows. It was gone. How fast! So fast that the trees don't know they've been illuminated. When all the cars are gone, they look back, and at some point it looks like I was illuminated, yes, it was illuminated, not as if.

South more shrubs, more trains, trains more Windows. South fork multi - building, building also multi - window. At some point I should live in a small building, or even a hotel, just for a little longer and to be settled. Can I spend the rest of my life in a car?

"If there is light from a window now, I will know that a bush has been transplanted to another south, and is waiting for a new one."

The rain fell in a small yard. The room is static, and the knitting yarn is silent. Not only at this time, but also on weekdays, the little courtyard was extremely quiet. No one spoke loudly. No one reads as loudly as they used to. Nor is the thrush's beak used for singing. Wisdom is in silence.

And now, the rain is falling. There was a sound of feathers on the tiles and a mysterious noise. Let the green lamp shine on the man in green clothes.

The car galloped in the rain. The shoes are on. The stones of the street were shining in the lamplight, and all the people in the street had changed their shoes. Most of their feet were wet when they got off the train. Those who had changed their shoes felt very dry and loose, so they walked faster than anyone else.

Knock on the door.

'Who? '--' I. ' '--' I'm at home, then! '

"You man! I said take the raincoat in the suitcase. A few days, no! No! You see, the hair is dripping on people's faces."

The door opens and closes, and (assuming there are no servants) the one who opens and the one who knocks shuts.

A young, not sensible, a young sensible too much. So often complain, thanks to repay this complaint, so more ignorant.

It's raining, but it's a wonderful spring in the south.

Unable to think of anything to do, he took out the book he had bought to read on the train. One look, half of the book turned over. "Well, what shall we do, tomorrow? Look how well it's bound, how well it's printed, it's a gift. A person casually read half the book, really shouldn't! It closes. It closes. Go to bed and think for a while. There's plenty of time.

When spring break is over, the school seems very big. The dormitories, the classrooms, even the empty yard. The day before the holiday, the students are gone. All the beds were bare except one, which was perfectly made. A large pillow of white silk embroidered with flowers, and my head was buried in all kinds of flowers. The flowers are in bloom. The secret opened the flap.

I'm leaving tomorrow, too. But if it rains tomorrow, I can excuse myself. I wish it would rain.

The rain was falling, and there must have been yellow spots on the rail joints.

The road police hid their bodies in tarpaulin raincoats, hesitated and wandered back and forth on the concrete platform, finding a lot, but never found themselves.

The canna flowers in the garden in front of the station are bright red, but the withered ones are still withered. Waiting for the car people smoking, just think of the good spring, even if there is wind and drizzle.

Campus birds like a jar of honey, more and more strong. The fish are in the pool. The water duckweed, duckweed there are small bugs. The man who cut the grass slept sweetly on the grass, dreaming of the song in his hometown rice fields. The song amused him like a cloud, like the shadow of a large plain butterfly.

"Just going?"

Heck! Look at the watch, early, I was fooled again. He smiled. What are you doing? There is no need for extra luggage. After tidying up the contents of the little leather bag, there is nothing more to tidy up. What kind of life are you having: I'm really worried.

The sun shines from the window to the white sheet, after several degrees of sifting, thick and light mottled, vaguely identifiable branches and leaves, overlapping petals. A bee had drawn a cyan line on it, zigzagging, it was drunk. When the cloud passes, the picture is blurred for a minute or two.

-- Tomorrow.

How long is the return ticket valid?

"You're coming?"

"Give it away."

"Why don't you sleep well? All right, I'll buy a ticket. I'll escort you later."

The station, the platform, the policeman, the car, the little handkerchief, shaking in the air, occasionally a little tear, also dried. The engine roared away, white clouds, white clouds, white clouds. ... The book was on the table, and the pages on either side formed a perfect symmetry.

The clouds come from the east, the clouds from the four winds. Clouds come from the heart.

The wind is blowing spring, so light.

The wind and the sun on both sides of the tree as far as the car poured into the car, car outside, dripping dripping.

We travel this month, you say, where to go, I don't say, where you are good.

What are you laughing at? I'm not a star. You are! I picked the stars.

Flowers fell in a small courtyard, with green screens, thick velvet curtains, and still poles.

"Why, dreaming in the daytime! He called twice but did not hear him. What do you think? Tell me."

"I won't tell you. What do you think I ought to think?"

"If you don't tell me who is rare, I will think for myself, and see who is beautiful. -- going now?"

Or "I'm leaving." Funny, funny, don't tell. What a beautiful secret.

Jiangnan March, Yingfei grass long, miscellaneous peanuts... Is it "warbler" or "heart" that flies?

Lying on his back on the soft green grass, listening to the stream alive, the river is mighty, so rhythmically ringing, just like the flow under the grass, across the bank a piece of wildflowers, fragrant like a dream, not afraid to fly far away. A little green grasshopper leaped upon the breast, scratched and tickled, seized his hind leg, and loosed it, and saw it fly away and land on the other breast.

"Oh, what? People are thinking about things."

"Who knows, spring stuff. Why don't you say something?"

'What, you're leaving in the morning, tomorrow?

"Before you wake up, perhaps, after you sleep."

'To-night?

"It was dawn when I got home, and the family were expecting me. Look at this place. It's a dull house."

"Listen to them. If they scream twice, it will rain. The road is difficult in rainy weather."

"If one day white clouds are black clouds. - who knows the eyes of birds!"

There was a song in the distance, not knowing whether it was on the mountain or on the water. It was clear and tangled, and it was intended to be sung to others. Thinking of the clever eye that deserved to be reproached and reproached, he broke a few pieces of cocktails and bit them between his teeth and lips. Dog-tail grass makes you laugh.

"Don't hide, I see you laughing."

"Why are you looking at me? I don't like it. Why am I laughing? Let's see it when we know."

"We laugh at the songwriter."

"I can only laugh at the listener. I smile at the train house, river house, river house, cloud house. Intentional and unintentional fly, a good free and easy outlook on life!"

"Don't laugh at cloud, cloud is not dark, it is dark. The six o 'clock train is going to say goodbye loudly. Is it really the last train? The night is always cold. The people on the floor are so sad, the car is gone, the people are gone, the light on the platform is too bright."

From the river back to the city, 5:30, to get to the station at least 25 minutes, forget it, do you want to catch the last bus? I read the book with the sound of falling flowers.

Tomorrow, the station in the morning. Not waiting for the bus, is waiting for people, but the people came first.

"What are you doing here?"

"Give it away."

"Well, I'll buy a ticket. The return period is ten days. You must come. The bus leaves at 6:40, the first one.

"Here is a box of sweets, enough to see you home.

"This is a book. Read it in the car.

"When the flower seller came just now, he found only jasmine and buds, which can be kept in the POTS of the kiln. Five flowers arranged in a string, I bought ten strings, a string of hairpin a day to play. Oh, get in the car. Five minutes to go."

When the car was fast, I suddenly remembered a thing. I opened the box, put in a book, took out a book, and took out a letter in each of the two books. Suddenly I thought again and jumped out of the car.

"Throw away the flowers."

"Why? -- Oh."

Five years ago, a telegram from the garage was followed by an express letter:

"Father:

Here is a beautiful flower that blooms only once a year at this time of year. Can not open eight or nine days, to the end of spring break when the flower is finished, let me play a few days. You want me to have a good spring, so I won't come back."

"Sir, the bus isn't running."

"Better not, very good -- oh, no? Why?"

"I don't know. Who knows why?"

When the valet had finished speaking, he went away. The Windows of the waiting room were full of water, and the outside scene was as dim as the world seen by a man with tears in his eyes. The policemen were too familiar with the traffic to be interested in it. They walked up and down the mud-water platform, their black raincoats rustling.

What am I going to do?

Go back. No galoshes, no umbrella, water from my hair running down my neck. Can't seem to go back.

Back, with a plain paper wrote "waiting room" three words on the wall.

Read aloud under the lamp. If my voice is higher than yours, you take a look at me, head down and brush your hair, and catch me with a higher voice. Now "I" is me, "you" is me, a mirror, a mirror outside.

Books help us through the days, reading, and flat on the table.

Please, Sir, have a seat. You're tired. Yes, you are very busy. You're running around all the time. What a good host the chair is, how sincere and attentive it is.