我并不是个爱出远门的人。每每出行,却总有雨露相伴。这熟悉而又陌生的雨。西安的雨,落在十年以前。那落在我的手上、脸上、心上的雨点,并不很大,却极密,密密匝匝地像呢子布料。质感也极像它的厚实沉重,且干干燥燥的,仿佛那不是水珠而是土粒。想来那毕竟是陕北,近了黄土高原的地方,千万年过来了,雨也理 I am not a man who loves to travel. Often travel, but there is always accompanied by rain. This familiar and strange rain. Xi’an rain, fell ten years ago. That fell on my hands, his face, the rain on his heart, not very large, but very close, densely rolled like a cloth. Texture is also very thick and heavy like it, and dry, as if it is not water droplets but soil particles. After all, it came to northern Shaanxi, the place of the Loess Plateau, tens of thousands of years over, rain is also reasonable