知音
在這收起了風和雨的夜半，他燃起了一盞燈，步向船尾。就這樣，他上了等他的船，走上了等他的航程。黑夜有些冷。
忽聞耳畔一陣琴聲飛臨，銜著煙色山嵐茫茫滑翔，填滿了山川延綿，溫潤漫漫。
那琴波，悠悠然，又從更高的夜空落音，在群山之間，曲曲折折的流連，冉冉升起，又冉冉下降，一絲絲地渲開。像一陣暖風飄落到他的船邊，一起一伏一圈圈地盤舞，漫天蓋頂。他深情的一瞥掃過粼粼的水麵，漾著光紋。攤開的手掌, 多了份涔涔暖暖的淋漓。
遠出轔轔的街市掠過一些紅粉佳人。翻了幾個水袖，梨花帶雨翻轉，從眼界中消失，從浮世中。隻留下墨色長長的空巷。他停了下來，忍不住回頭看了一眼。驛站的岸邊，月光棲在桃花樹上，俯看：粉紅花瓣纏枝開滿了一樹，風姿盎然。月影隱在花下，夜影斑駁。
她回眸, 
她顧盼，隻是為了
回
首
關
不經意時他回頭一瞥留下的故事, 萬古流芳，沒有結局。。。。。。餘音繚繞
The Philharmonic
A calm turn in the midnight is just raising and moving itself with the retreat of violent wind and rain. He lifts a thick candle and paces his step on to the bottom of the boat in solitude in such a solitary evening, such a solitary lake. Here the boat preparation for him, for the departure of his life journey, waiting. The secretive darkness and dampness is stroking his face, still chilly, but slightly.
Suddenly, the sounds of the melody flow to his ears, tentatively and plaintively bulging into a mountainous mass, the grey fog twists inside the hug of the sounds. It is a vale of soothing where the feeling is beaten down, immensity.
The waves of the notes fling and hurl itself high so restful which seems to touch the evening sky and down to sweep those tangled cluster of mountains and plains and lakes, up and down, lingering around.
The sounds drift and then settle on the edge of the boat, lowered and raised, hover around. He feels being closed in. His soften glance flicks through the waters crystal clear, beaming into silvers of silver of moonlight, shadowing in ripple on ripple. He senses the trickle of the warmth dripping through his palms, the touch behind tenderness soften.
In the distance few of comings and goings of beauties through the panting of cars with clouds of crowds. Flying sleeves like flowing water are shifting, flashing Chinese ancient opera is changing on.
Pear petals flip over drizzle tears down at the edge of the theatre floors where they are retreating, quietly but steadily, swinging away out of sight, out of the crowded and bustling town, soon plunging into the inky empty alleys. The place, the old world is now ebbing steadily, far away. For an instance, he pauses and halts to turns his head back, the last glance looking across the lake, irresistibly. And again there comes a distraction at the heart of his.
Some distance away, at the bank of the lake, the moonlit perches on the pear-tree to watch down: the trees are in budding, thickening with the fresh pink petals coiled the branches, a gesture of splendour; beneath the moon-shadow hidden and shaded; and the evening-shadow dance under the sky of the flowers.
This sudden backward glance leaving an ever-lasting story of the past, of the years, now she catches and carries such glance at the Gate of Flashbacks in her eyes, in her minds even, and in her blood to memorise.
The passing of a glance, of a sound follows her night after night, day after day……it goes on ringing
