The ancient alleys run deep. Placed within them, I am lost to the year and the evening, introspective. I've forgotten where they begin and where they end. The alleys have witnessed much change. Inspired by the evening's song, I look upon the quartzite worn smooth by years of footprints, and it all seems somewhat bewildering. The Ming and Qing dynasties' breath lingers, yet there are no long-sleeved jackets to be seen. Unlatched windows reveal a search for Fang Zhiniang, deeply wrinkled, having long been shy and calm. The paint has peeled off while the richness remains. The elegance of bygone years lingers, but now, I do not know where life resides. A lock, and the scenery is all enclosed in a deep courtyard. The ancient alleys will continue, but life does not always simply copy itself. Many stories about these alleys, in the modern sense, have faded away. The rain slants gently, thin raindrops fall, fireworks set off in March under the hijab. It’s hazy and poetic, lightly sorrowful singing, the rain visible yet the end of the walk unseen. The wind tilts, tilting towards Ziyan's gentle Pianfei. Staring across both Tongmou, pink pear blossoms drop into the depths of shame. People lean on railings, long thoughts resonate with the high tide in Ziyan, sighs falling amidst Ectocarpus. The wind tilts, tilting towards the shore where the water is the bow's most gentle curve. Taking pavilions, shorter pavilions, willows sway in the wind, unable to bear the desolation of parting. Fine rain falls, secret agents Hetang numerous smiles faintly. That Sha Creek woman, and that woman involved Jiang Cailian, their soft words sought... women, drunk in southern rain, wetting passionate nights of history. Their laughter, like flowers, blooming passionately, withering too sadly. Fine rain falls, spy head Ying Wu Pengchuan little fire. From home, keeping a boat nostalgia. Pouring a glass of warm wine, alone on the fishing boat amidst Jiangfeng, night lights produce lonely rash products. Arched bridges curve, like crescent hooks. Fishing stirs a thousand emotions, sentimental... watching thousands of fishermen who care for children reclining Qiaolan. Sentimental white snake crossing the bridge going. Bridges, witnessing Yi's love. Meeting on the bridge, dating on the bridge, stone bridges, and the sad parting on the bridge. A pulse flow, through the ancient totem, awakens the memory of modern times long. Fishermen from two birds of light Xiang, as if the wings fell off ho Yanbo imagination. By skiff, holding a melody of songs, drawing into poetic dreams, attracting fish to pursue. A happy fish, the river Punta fire line spent the next hearing, forgetting the troubles of the Red, succinctly out of leisure.
Written on December 2, 2011
Related articles:
- [Link 1](http://home.a9188.com/space.php?uid=65093&do=blog&id=1659638)
- [Link 2](http://thefans.com.nu/index.php?p=blogs/viewstory/236539)
- [Link 3](http://k8.wjxit.com/bbs/boke.asp?v722723050.showtopic.5806.html)