Jet-lagging

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.