北京的春天,总是干旱少雨,虽值清明,风轻日朗,万里无云,天空如洗,但总觉得缺少丝丝缕缕的诗意。尤其走在雨儿胡同里,一种流淌于心的无奈,不情愿地漫过内心的沟沟坎坎,在心域泛滥。冲破心堤时,又悄然幻变成冥冥之中雨雾缭绕的气象,在雨儿胡同轻洒、缥缈。幻梦中的雨儿胡同,没有人头攒动,没有人潮汹涌,有的便是手撑油纸伞的 In the spring of Beijing, there is always arid and rainy days. Although the values ​​are clear and clear, the weather is light and the sky is clean, there is always a lack of fantastic poetry. In particular, walking in the alley rain, a flow of helpless in the heart, reluctantly over the inner gully Cankan, overflowing in the heart domain. Break through the embankment, but also quietly into a fantasy into the rain-fog-filled weather, in the rain alley light sprinkle, 缥 缈. Rainy dreams alley, no crowded, no crowded, and some are holding paper umbrella