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在三月春天濡湿的空气里，我总想象着一幅画面：花园外面的草地上开满了黄色和紫色的小花，院子当中的樱桃树树上满树的花都从熏风里缓慢地绽放，在四季的更替里青色的果子带着张大的胀痛表情，从发亮的枝条里长出来。春天的深夜六，老猫整夜不能安睡，在树下跺着步，天鹅夫妇发出叫声，而野鸭子们成队成对地向月亮飞去。 In the humid air of March spring, I always imagine a picture: the grass outside the garden is full of small yellow and purple flowers, the cherry trees in the yard are full of flowers slowly blooming from the wind, and in the four seasons' alternation, the green fruits grow out of the shining branches with a big expression of swelling pain. At six in the spring night, the old cat couldn't sleep all night. He was stomping under the tree. The couple of swans called, and the ducks flew to the moon in pairs. 而我总在深夜醒来，看月亮把楼下的蔷薇的枝条长长地画在卵石上，那上面长满了青请的花苞。 And I always wake up in the middle of the night, to see the moon downstairs the rose branches long painted on the pebbles, the top of which is full of green please buds. 我在深夜里，听见了春天的静。萦绕在耳边的，有一种声音特别短促，想一勺糖倒进红茶时发出的声音一样，那应该是小雨拍打到树上的叶子的声音。它们让人想起了白天那些引领着道路通向小区的梧桐树。 | 
