在中国渡过了许多日子。 许多。 是否多得足以让我找到一些什么？答案是肯定的。 我觉得这样就很幸运了。三十二岁生日时在黄河以西，找回自己在长江以南。 如今在大洋这边，看着 清真餐厅的落地玻璃窗外站着一个乞讨的老头子。 拄着拐杖，戴着毡帽。 据说他每天都来。 于是没有人起身。 老头子嘻嘻笑了。 用手敲了敲玻璃。 走了。 或许那就是时间。 It knocks on the window. Waits to be attended. Lefts, when ignored. Strange, isn't it? This is the first thing which comes to my mind when I think of that day, when I have seen the beautiful landscape along the Hexi Corridor, when I was progressing into an important stage of my film project. That day. I do not want to write about the landscape, nor about my film. I want to write about time. Lost. But never gone. I saw it with my own eyes. Time.
