雾霭浓重的终南山,晚钟声阵阵,那像是从亘古的大地深处发出的声响,一缕缕萦绕在耳畔。夕阳和着白云,与飞过的一排排大雁相互映衬着,仿佛是被一位画家用诗意的红与深沉的蓝随意涂抹的写意画。一个老人,站在山峰上,他的目光深邃又悠远,望向了脚底下似棉毯一般密织着的云。此时此刻,坐在书桌前的我,情不自禁地怀念起曾经在终南山隐居 The thick mist of Zhongnanshan, the evening bursts of sound, it seems like the noise from the depths of ancient land, a plume of lingering in the ear. The setting sun and the white clouds are silhouetted against the winged geese flying past, as if they are freehand painted by a painter with poetic red and deep blue. An old man, standing on the mountain, his eyes deep and distant, looking under the foot of a blanket like a dense cotton clouds. At this moment, sitting in front of my desk, I can not help but miss the seclusion of Zhongnanshan ever