In the dream, that layer of yarn that can not be eaten
Human memory is estimated to be a small overlap of the grid, which are memory fragments inside the grid, some scattered, some real. These crumbled things will precipitate and will ferment, albeit closed and intimate. But it is not certain which breeze in life will wind it up, let them collide with each other, and rattling flashing light, but can not hear the sound.
Memory is so excited.
We can recall some things, in fact, are sometimes small, trivial, but it firmly sealed in your mind. Although these small pieces are long-lived but always fresh, they are much more impressive than those who change themselves or their families so much.
In the rainy courtyard, my mother put a pancake in the briquettes under the boulder in Xiamen. I sat beside it and broke off a large piece of freshly gnocchi. I drank oil and salt and tasted so fragrant. Mom said I About five or six years old then.
It should be a summer night, my father took me and my sister to the train station in front of the square to ride a bike, after training, my father put one after another on the bike carrying us home. On the road was stopped by the police, actually took the police station, went to the police station to go to the police station, I felt like a catastrophe, and took my sister's hand was afraid to speak. 4 years old then. ... is such a fart, I actually remember the real and vivid.
One morning after many years, on the bank of the river called Xin'an River, I saw the mist rising suddenly from the river, so it entered the memory lattice of my brain, and from then on it was like a dream. Not to go.
That year, I was invited to participate in Hangzhou, the organizers took the participants to a white bus with a town (do not know is not the name, but I always think so). The Baisha Town is on the edge of the Xin'an River, not far from the Baisha Bridge and the bridge name written by Guo Moruo, and not far from the famous Xin'anjiang Hydropower Station.
Because of the rain, arranged arrangements for the visit to the bridge and hydropower station was canceled, it touches in exchange for a night of waterfront experience. Early the next morning, fine weather, and came out from the room to see clearly, we live in the edge of the Xin'an River, the other side is a verdant mountain, the river is clear and blue, quiet. Waterfront vegetation is very good, our side is a garden, winding paths, I took the East 135 film camera enjoy the shoot, huge river on me alone, it is estimated we are still resting.
Suddenly, a layer of "yarn" floated out of the river, like a swing from the water, and the yarns gathered very fast, as if an instant had gathered into a mass. The group of white neglected things rolled on the river, But immediately it was blown out by the wind, spread out around it, and spread into a thin sheet. The thin layer of "yarn" floated on the river. A small fishing boat came over and the white yarn was cut across the waist of the ship's man, and the boat and the boatman could be seen wandering away like an immortal.
While staring blankly at this scene, the fog on the river surface was blown again by the wind, which was then flattened by the wind. This time it was not a single layer, but rather a layer of white gauze with regular patterns parallel to the river surface Lists, layers of layers, floating Miao Miao, fishes, such as Meng like yarn like magic. Even more amazing is that when the sun came out, the sun's golden sprinkle the top of the fog, and then shine down, that white gauze-like fog will have a three-dimensional light.
River shouts came across the river, like songs, melodious, invisible figure.
After returning, I wrote an essay on this scene, with a black and white photo, published. I remember that the newspaper was saved, but it was not found again afterwards, and disappeared like a washout (so the illustrations in this article come from the internet).
How many times, have wanted to go back and look, but have no chance.
Some people advise, do not go, so many years later, that place may not be that appearance, is still so, maybe it is no longer that feeling, stay in the heart, do not destroy it.
Think about it, maybe that's my illusion or a non-existent dream? Or really there, but things are non-human, non-human things, non-human things, etc., are sorry for me.
Maybe, there is such a place in the heart of everyone like a dream mirror.
One day, this dream, I still have to find it!
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