It is a small town I like most. I went there with my college mates in the 1980s and was quite impressed. The small town extended along the river. From a distant view, overlapping houses and charming roof slopes could ...It is a small town I like most. I went there with my college mates in the 1980s and was quite impressed. The small town extended along the river. From a distant view, overlapping houses and charming roof slopes could be glimpsed through misty morning rays and black tiles and white walls looked plain but elegant. There was a riverside square in the town and a stone bridge in a distance. Adults sat at the bridge, chatting and enjoying the cool while kids chasing and playing on the square. On the other side of the bridge was a tong alley along which houses and shops were lined up, I stopped time and again, chatting with old men at doorways. I was amazed by their strong memory and apparent pride. Like knowledgeable storytellers, they told me the history of the small town, from the story about the ancestors in this house to the anecdote of the great scholar inscribed on that honorary archway, from emperors to members of local clans. Their accounts made me feel that the small town was like a life and I could experience her evolution over the past one thousand years. Here I could feel the traditional lifestyle in those narrow alleys and on the riverside square, and seize development traces of some family from its house layout. Wherever I am in the small town, I could touch textures of its history. The charm of the small town set free my imagination.展开更多
文摘It is a small town I like most. I went there with my college mates in the 1980s and was quite impressed. The small town extended along the river. From a distant view, overlapping houses and charming roof slopes could be glimpsed through misty morning rays and black tiles and white walls looked plain but elegant. There was a riverside square in the town and a stone bridge in a distance. Adults sat at the bridge, chatting and enjoying the cool while kids chasing and playing on the square. On the other side of the bridge was a tong alley along which houses and shops were lined up, I stopped time and again, chatting with old men at doorways. I was amazed by their strong memory and apparent pride. Like knowledgeable storytellers, they told me the history of the small town, from the story about the ancestors in this house to the anecdote of the great scholar inscribed on that honorary archway, from emperors to members of local clans. Their accounts made me feel that the small town was like a life and I could experience her evolution over the past one thousand years. Here I could feel the traditional lifestyle in those narrow alleys and on the riverside square, and seize development traces of some family from its house layout. Wherever I am in the small town, I could touch textures of its history. The charm of the small town set free my imagination.
