窗外有一棵树,一株香樟,当我写下这句话的时候,笔尖萦绕的是香樟那淡淡的清香。那应该是一棵很古老的香樟,因为这个四合院里最老的老人也说不出它的年月。仿佛从我记事的一开始,它就站在那儿,它就应该像一个古老的传说一般存在着。那应该是一棵很古老的香樟,因为古老,所以粗壮;因为古老,所以高大;因为古老,所以两个大人才能将它合抱。是的,那是一棵很老很老的树了,老得我不得不去用目光叩问那斑驳的树皮,深 There is a tree outside the window, a camphor, when I write this sentence, the nib lingering is the delicate fragrance of camphor. That should be a very old camphor, because the oldest old man in the courtyard can not say its years. It seems as if from the very beginning of my memoir, it stood there, and it should have existed as an ancient legend. It should be a very old camphor, because ancient, so stout; because of the old, so tall; because of age, so two adults can hold it together. Yes, it is a very old and very old tree, so old I had to use my eyes to ask the mottled bark, deep