论文部分内容阅读
从上海飞韩国济州岛,正是太阳西下之时,朝东飞翔意味着追逐黑暗而非光明。无边无际的云层阻隔了人间烟火,宛若温暖的棉絮铺展于蓝天之下。远处,温顺得像个没见过世面的夕阳正迅速地隐藏着自己的脸忽见另一架飞机在远方诗意地飞翔着,如果说我们是一种离开,那么它就是一种归来,如此一想,它该是倦鸟,而我们则是远游的雁。我靠着舷窗,非常强烈地感觉到自己像个诗人,凝望着镶着金边云裳的天际,仿佛有话想说却又不知如何说起。天不可阻挡地暗了下来,云层如被破解了魔法的回天无力的黑毯,空阔的天穹幽蓝如梦。一个半小时就这样过去了,飞机开始下降,下了云端,人间的灯火星星点点地出现在眼帘上,济州岛让人觉得如此温暖。
Flying from Shanghai to Jeju Island, South Korea, just as the sun goes down, flying eastwards means chasing darkness instead of light. Endless clouds block the human fireworks, like a warm cotton spread in the blue sky. In the distance, the meek, sunset-like sunset is rapidly hiding its face and suddenly sees another plane flying poetically in the distance, and if we are the one to leave, then it is a return, and so on One thought, it should be tired birds, and we are far geese. I leaned against the porthole and felt very strongly like a poet, gazing at the horizon with the Phnom Penh, as if I had anything to say but did not know how to speak. Sky inexorably dark down, as if the clouds were cracked magic back to powerless black blanket, sky wide sky faint dreams. An hour and a half passed, the aircraft began to descend, and the cloud was off. The lights of the world came to light a little, and Jeju Island felt so warm.