夜深了,合上《撒哈拉的故事》,我站起身,踱到窗边伸了个懒腰。抬头,一轮皓月正悬于天际。我想,几十年前,这清冷的月光也曾温柔过三毛所走过、所写过的天涯海角。静静地,恍惚听见月亮对我轻语低唱:不要问我从哪里来,我的故乡在远方,为什么流浪,流浪远方,流浪……借着如洗的月色,我看见她从远处向我走来。从一个小女孩,慢慢变成一笑倾城、眼中闪烁着坚韧和倔强的女子。她走到我身旁,幻化成一位身着棉布长裙的女人,秀发优雅地挽成一个髻。岁月在她脸上刻下永久的痕迹,但也正是光阴,让她的双眸更加深邃、多情、神秘。我们相视一笑,仿佛老朋友一样。 Late at night, closing “the story of the Sahara,” I got up and stretched a long way to the window. Looked up, a round of Haoyue hanging in the sky. I think, a few decades ago, this cool moonlight has also been tenderly passed San Mao, written by the ends of the earth. Quietly, trance heard the moon whispered softly to me: do not ask me where I come from, my hometown in the distance, why wandering, wandering the distance, stray ... By such as washing the moon, I saw her from afar Come to me From a little girl, slowly into a smile Allure, eyes flashing tough and stubborn woman. She came to me, turned into a woman dressed in cotton dress, elegant hair pulled into a bun. Time marks the permanent traces on her face, but it is also time, let her eyes more profound, passionate, mysterious. We laugh at each other as if we were old friends.