“青箬笠,绿蓑衣,斜风细雨不须归。”每读到张志和《渔父》中的这句词,就想起江南的春雨来。每年三月,江南的春雨都会如约而至,羞答答地迈着莲花步,唱着绵绵的小调,披着青罗曼纱,越过远山,穿过柳烟,来到我的家乡,江南的一个小山村。溪边两岸,垂柳绽开鹅黄的嫩芽,摇曳着婀娜的腰肢,不时地划破一河明镜;桃花浅笑嫣然,撑开朵朵粉红色的小伞,点缀着一帘雨幕;小草迫不及待地探出嫩绿的头,在细雨中清醒一冬的睡意。在蒙蒙的雨幕中,散落的村舍点缀在青山中、绿水旁;一 “Green 箬 Li, green 蓑 clothing, oblique wind and rain do not have to go.” Each read Zhang Zhi and “Fisher Father” in the phrase, think of the spring rain in the south. Every year in March, Jiangnan spring rain will come as a result, shamelessly step Lotus steps, singing a soft little tune, dressed in green Luo Mans yarn, across the mountains, through the Liu smoke, came to my hometown, a small Jiangnan Mountain village. Flowering cross-strait, weeping willow blooming yellow buds, swaying graceful waist, from time to time to pierce a river mirror; peach smiling lightly, propped blossoming pink umbrella, dotted with a curtain rain curtain; grass can not wait To explore the verdant head, awake in the drizzle awake winter. In the misty rain curtain, the scattered cottage dotted in the green hills, next to the green water;