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在中国渡过了许多日子。
许多。
是否多得足以让我找到一些什么？答案是肯定的。
我觉得这样就很幸运了。三十二岁生日时在黄河以西，找回自己在长江以南。
如今在大洋这边，看着
清真餐厅的落地玻璃窗外站着一个乞讨的老头子。
拄着拐杖，戴着毡帽。
据说他每天都来。
于是没有人起身。
老头子嘻嘻笑了。
用手敲了敲玻璃。
走了。
或许那就是时间。
It knocks on the window.
Waits to be attended.
Lefts, when ignored.
Strange, isn't it? This is the first thing which comes to my mind when I think of that day, when I have seen the beautiful landscape along the Hexi Corridor, when I was progressing into an important stage of my film project. That day. I do not want to write about the landscape, nor about my film. I want to write about time. Lost. But never gone. I saw it with my own eyes.
Time. |
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