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12月29日 送给新年最近忙，已经不想结果了，学业的，其它的，这种过程本身就很美好很享受。
早上被手机闹表叫醒的时候再做一个梦，看到覆盖白雪的山顶，可是下山以后就是清澈的河，并且平静，好像镜面，一会儿又有花的柔和颜色。。。不知道是不是和某某人昨天说的“以后要在一个大山脚下住”有关联。
中午吃了一个墨西哥风格的wrap，记得上次吃的时候里面是黑豆，这次是碎番茄和沙拉酱， 每次都不一样，这厨师一定是个爱生活的人。
下午等车的时候和志恩一起说中文绕口令，她也可以说“粉红凤凰飞”了，帮她学汉语是一件很开心的事儿，我用铅笔和她一起写字，写了近两年来最多的铅笔字。不过她教我的韩语绕口令我没听完就give up了。如果以后还要学哪门语言，我坚决要到那个国家去。 晚上回来给自己放个小假 贴照片 林徽因的一首小诗一直在脑子里面晃悠：
《忆》
新年等在窗外，一缕香，枝上刚放出一半朵红。 心在转，你曾说过的 几句话，白鸽似的盘旋。 我不曾忘，也不能忘 那天的天澄清的透蓝， 太阳带点暖，斜照在 每棵树梢头，像凤凰。 是你在笑，仰脸望， 多少勇敢话那天，你我 全说了，——像张风筝 向蓝穹，凭一线力量。 看过的诗不多 但似乎只喜欢她的。
重温了宫崎骏的天空之城 不记得是第几次看了
sheeta 说：
"Take root in the ground, live in harmony with the wind, plant your seeds in the Winter, and rejoice with the birds in the coming of Spring."
这两件礼物，送给新年。
12月19日 Homeward BoundThis is the music I miss, every end of the year; this is the trip I long for, every end of the year.
Homeward Bound
I'm sittin' in the railway station Got a ticket for my destination On a tour of one night stands My suitcase and guitar in hand And every stop is neatly planned For a poet and a one man band Homeward bound I wish I was Homeward bound Home, where my thought's escaping Home, where my music's playing Home, where my love lies waiting Silently for me Everyday's an endless stream Of cigarettes and magazines And each town looks the same to me The movies and the factories And every stranger's face I see Reminds me that I long to be Homeward bound I wish I was Homeward bound Home, where my thought's escaping Home, where my music's playing Home, where my love lies waiting Silently for me Tonight I'll sing my songs again I'll play the game and pretend But all my words come back to me In shades of mediocrity Like emptiness in harmony I need someone to comfort me Homeward bound I wish I was Homeward bound Home, where my thought's escaping Home, where my music's playing Home, where my love lies waiting Silently for me Silently for me Silently for me 12月6日 YouthYouth is not a time of life; it is a state of mind; it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees; it is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions; it is the freshness of the deep springs of life.
Youth means a tempera-mental predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of 60 more than a boy of 20. Nobody grows old merely by a number of years. We grow old by deserting our ideals. Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spring back to dust. Whether 60 or 16, there is in every human being’s heart the lure of wonder, the unfailing childlike appetite of what’s next and the joy of the game of living. In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wireless station: so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and power from men and from the Infinite, so long are you young. When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism, then you are grown old, even at 20, but as long as your aerials are up, to catch waves of optimism, there is hope you may die young at 80. |
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