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老宅的屋檐,仿佛有了禅性。它是岁月的追随者,被岁月殷实的双唇亲吻了千年。它是风雨的守望者,被风雨柔韧的双手抚摸了千年。它是历史的记录者,被关于过去、现在、将来的思索萦绕了千年。老宅的屋檐,陷入了沉思,思考饱经的沧桑,感悟蕴藏的哲理。拨动思绪的琴弦,老宅的屋檐让人的灵魂体味远去的悠远。落魄的文人放出霜冷的目光,丈量着屋檐的肌骨,拷问着屋檐的灵魂,那无法承受的内涵,分明被屋檐读出了“才下眉头,却上心头”的无奈。
The eaves of the old house, as if with a Zen. It is a follower of the years, kissed by milky years lips. It is a stormy watchman, stroked by milky hand with stormy hands. It is the recorder of history, haunted by thousands of years of contemplation of the past, present and future. The eaves of the old house, lost in thought, thinking of the vicissitudes of life, sentiment hidden philosophy. Dial the strings of thoughts, the eaves of the old house lets the soul feel far away. Abandoned scholar released frost cold eyes, measured the eaves of the musculature, torture the soul of the eaves, it can not afford to connotation, clearly read out the eaves, “only under the brow, but the heart ” helplessness.