In my impression, the South, often this is just a small town, Ming and Qing dynasties, when the famous town of western Hunan river basin. It is the east side there is a year-round flow of the river, mengdong he.
In the past some days before, I have tried to find words arrested Zhuo some memories about it, but for a variety of reasons, but these memories leave Tonight, stay in this summer again at the Wangcun the first night.
With my fellow friends Chun Tsai, because of this short journey tired, now has entered the village where the nights sleep. Nowadays the south the rainy season, making it a small town in the evening stopped electricity, I sat in the house, the rain outside the window of the crisp black, silent night, not far from the streams of water pour up the sound in the ears of brawl ..... .
All this happened, and all are in my memory. Point of a cigarette, smoke, lights. Quiet.
The spring of 2094, also in the field of my study, with pain and depression lost father, and the students first came to this town A Cheng, initially a lot of small things right now is have not recall Only the long ancient pier Natiao Street, blooming in the family courtyard pink peach, rain after the Baiduan hanging from a cliff like a waterfall, A Cheng at home kind reticent over octogenarian grandmother.
All quiet, gentle with my heart.
I really can not elaborate too much on this small town thing, on which a lot of history, the one person who hurriedly crossing the road, a number of things and history is pale, and no one told me that he would like to Here what to look for some lost and intoxicating scenery, or a youth tragic memories.
Just a small town, only a pale wash of the streets after time evening season, standing at the river's side, gazing silently at the foot of gently flowing water, in one after another in the drizzling rain, as if they see half a century ago this terminal side of the town gathered in the bustling commercial 10000, Diaojiaolou where bold rugged sailors brave woman with Hunan lingering sentimental laughter .....
A street twists and turns, Youyuan long, numerous waterside story line of countless passers-by hurry and are in the quartzite is something which it is moving on a stamp. Its prosperity, the former western Hunan Road, said people "small Nanking" in one era and begin another cycle of alternating highs and lows in the float since. In the relentless passage of time, the long history of life here as the dust of earth, life here is full of vitality is still the same old street. Is still the same town.
Perhaps you see not, a threshold and a carved wooden window frames, the dust-laden with so many old stories, he served as the town on this day after day of wind and rain and sunshine, drying It is happy with the grief.
It is so paternity with its silent with. Let me look.
Is just as simple as that, only a Yishanbangshui town, only a narrow and long street, only rows of dilapidated wooden house, just a Wangcun only a Hibiscus Town.
I came here, a person, perhaps you are here, a people, we each look forward to what she wants, a happiness, a recollection, an encounter, or, one has no intention of.
I like to walk the lonely streets at the end, softly touching the door of those writing sparse, dust thick windows, a sitting corner. MTX alone to listen to the old counter talk.
Yang Shou looked at one another under the eaves dark and decadent a beautiful spider-web, a person looking for other people are not interested in the story, the old barber shop kind of the elderly, street children playing, a four foraging alone stare at me from time to time again dogs ......
In this small town I was such a quiet, hair with his lovely stay, anyway, those coming and going of the crowd, who will not be met, of course, will not meet you.
A sense of direction .2004.7.13. Wangcun
Author: wxb163
