一巷陌深处,偶尔传来爆竹的鸣响,惊鹊掠过枝条。随后,一切又回归了午后的宁静与千年如一的安逸……坐在桥头,透过风中摇曳的树枝,我在“吱呀”的橹声中目送渔舟在身下漂过。天是阴霾的,像是有一层淡的灰纱,覆盖着这旧年的异乡的苍穹。小河的尽头,斑驳地横斜着几排乌篷船。桥边参差的小巷和房屋的深灰色调,在冬日雨丝的浸润下显得有些凝重。 In the depths of an alleyway, the sound of firecrackers was occasionally heard, and the consternation swept through the branches. Afterwards, everything returned to the tranquility of the noon and the peacefulness of the millennium... Sitting on the bridge, through the swaying branches of the wind, I watched the fishing boat drift over under the squeaky sound of “Oh.” The sky is cloudy, like a layer of pale gray yarn, covering the sky of the old town. At the end of the river, mottled rows of awnings lay diagonally. The dark gray tone of the jagged lanes and houses on the side of the bridge appears dignified by the infiltration of winter rain.