细雨湿芭蕉,新桃换旧符,时光在指缝间悄然流淌,唯有那阵阵书香,沁漫鼻尖,弥久不散。曾几何时,也曾手捧一本书,坐在摇椅上,任阳光穿过发梢间的缝隙,斑驳地撒遍书的每一页。手握一杯浓香醇厚的大麦茶,在温暖的氤氲之中,感受书的味道带来的沁人心脾,满园花香。直到夕阳收敛它的光芒,才恋恋不舍地放下。然而脑海中却放映着一幕幕书中的剧情,世间的每一样物品,无不留有它们的痕迹。那爬满绿藤的小屋,或是安妮散心时的住所;从远方飞来的海鸟,或是精卫在寻觅填 Moist wet banana, Xin Tao for the old symbol, the time flowing quietly between the fingers, only the bursts of incense, Qin diffuse nose tip, a long time not loose. Once upon a time, also holding a book, sitting in a rocking chair, as the sun through the gap between the hair, mottled to spread every page of the book. Hold a cup of thick mellow barley tea, among the warm coy, feel the book taste refreshing, garden flowers. Until the sunset convergence of its light, before reluctantly put down. However, in my mind, there are scenes of scenes from the book, and every single thing in the world leaves their mark. That cabin lined with green vine, or Anne shelter; seabirds from afar, or Jingwei looking for fill