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一烈日照向一望无际的戈壁,碎石与顽土拼成戈壁的底色,油葵从大地上拎起一小撮土,低低却又顽固地伫立着。荒原的风掠过,葵藿颤动,小叶盘抖着碎光,戈壁上泛起一片黄褐色的微波,一片接着一片荡开去,绒绒的、颤颤的,仿佛大地的声息。我站在阿尔泰北部戈壁的边缘,心中澎湃着曾经的多个葵园,仿佛踏着这葵园的碎片,慢慢前行。画葵已历12个年头。12年前,亚洲之行的一次邂逅,把我带进葵园大地。这之
A sun shining to the endless Gobi, rubble and stubborn earth into the Gobi background, oil sunflower picked up from the earth a handful of soil, low but stubbornly stood. Wasteland of the wind passing, Kwaihuo fibrillation, shook the lobular disk broken light, gobo thrown a tawny microwave, one after another to go swank, fluffy, quivering, as if the voice of the earth. I stood on the edge of the Gobi Desert in northern Altai, surging in my heart many former Kwai Chung gardens, as if embarking on the debris of this Kwai Yuen Garden and moving slowly forward. Kwai Kwai has been 12 years old. Twelve years ago, an encounter on an Asian tour brought me to the land of Kwai Yuen. This