∽¨∽ 知音∽¨∽
知音
在这收起了风和雨的夜半，他燃起了一盏灯，步向船尾。就这样，他上了等他的船，走上了等他的航程。黑夜有些冷。
忽闻耳畔一阵琴声飞临，衔着烟色山岚茫茫滑翔，填满了山川延绵，温润漫漫。
那琴波，悠悠然，又从更高的夜空落音，在群山之间，曲曲折折的流连，冉冉升起，又冉冉下降，一丝丝地渲开。像一阵暖风飘落到他的船边，一起一伏一圈圈地盘舞，漫天盖顶。他深情的一瞥扫过粼粼的水面，漾着光纹。摊开的手掌, 多了份涔涔暖暖的淋漓。
远出辚辚的街市掠过一些红粉佳人。翻了几个水袖，梨花带雨翻转，从眼界中消失，从浮世中。只留下墨色长长的空巷。他停了下来，忍不住回头看了一眼。驿站的岸边，月光栖在桃花树上，俯看：粉红花瓣缠枝开满了一树，风姿盎然。月影隐在花下，夜影斑驳。
她回眸, 
她顾盼，只是为了
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不经意时他回头一瞥留下的故事, 万古流芳，没有结局。。。。。。余音缭绕
The Philharmonic
A calm turn in the midnight is just raising and moving itself with the retreat of violent wind and rain. He lifts a thick candle and paces his step on to the bottom of the boat in solitude in such a solitary evening, such a solitary lake. Here the boat preparation for him, for the departure of his life journey, waiting. The secretive darkness and dampness is stroking his face, still chilly, but slightly.
Suddenly, the sounds of the melody flow to his ears, tentatively and plaintively bulging into a mountainous mass, the grey fog twists inside the hug of the sounds. It is a vale of soothing where the feeling is beaten down, immensity.
The waves of the notes fling and hurl itself high so restful which seems to touch the evening sky and down to sweep those tangled cluster of mountains and plains and lakes, up and down, lingering around.
The sounds drift and then settle on the edge of the boat, lowered and raised, hover around. He feels being closed in. His soften glance flicks through the waters crystal clear, beaming into silvers of silver of moonlight, shadowing in ripple on ripple. He senses the trickle of the warmth dripping through his palms, the touch behind tenderness soften.
In the distance few of comings and goings of beauties through the panting of cars with clouds of crowds. Flying sleeves like flowing water are shifting, flashing Chinese ancient opera is changing on.
Pear petals flip over drizzle tears down at the edge of the theatre floors where they are retreating, quietly but steadily, swinging away out of sight, out of the crowded and bustling town, soon plunging into the inky empty alleys. The place, the old world is now ebbing steadily, far away. For an instance, he pauses and halts to turns his head back, the last glance looking across the lake, irresistibly. And again there comes a distraction at the heart of his.
Some distance away, at the bank of the lake, the moonlit perches on the pear-tree to watch down: the trees are in budding, thickening with the fresh pink petals coiled the branches, a gesture of splendour; beneath the moon-shadow hidden and shaded; and the evening-shadow dance under the sky of the flowers.
This sudden backward glance leaving an ever-lasting story of the past, of the years, now she catches and carries such glance at the Gate of Flashbacks in her eyes, in her minds even, and in her blood to memorise.
The passing of a glance, of a sound follows her night after night, day after day……it goes on ringing