正好八点，一群黑色的精灵直扑扑地往办公室的窗子飞来，把玻璃窗撞得非响。

正好八点，一群黑色的精灵直扑扑地往办公室的窗子飞来，把玻璃窗撞得非响。有的朝开着的窗子飞进屋来，又惊慌失措地飞走。此时此境，如果在波浪壮阔的海边，那就该是高尔基所说的海燕，就是黑色闪电了。可惜它们来错地方了，这不是海边，成不了海燕，也成不了黑色闪电；这也不是大连市中山区民康街15号，成不了《海燕》编辑部的。<br>下班回家，正忙着淘米下锅，窗外便伶伶仃仃地传来画眉的叫声。这不是城市里退休老叟眷养的那类画眉，正是我下山路上遇到的那种画眉鸟。隔着纱窗往外看，对面窗台上挂着一只鸟笼，笼子里确实关着一只鸟，但不盲确认。那幢房子我去过，挂鸟笼的旁边就是洗澡间，几次拿起望远镜，又恐洞穿玻璃，看见湿漉漉的美体，只好站在纱窗旁边，学着鸟的鸣叫打几个口哨。笼子里的鸟跳得更欢、叫得更勤。<br>我断定，那就是画眉。<br>每次做饭，看着它伶仃无望地蹲站在对面窗台的笼子里，我便与它对调，引起它一阵不小的企盼，给它一个并不存在的希望。<br>自打入城，我养坏了一种习惯：午休怕声音，那些不是鸟叫的声音。比如收废纸的，卖蜂窝煤的，磨剪子菜刀的，卖甜白酒的，叫声清苦，古怪阴阳，像唱，又像说，让人听得半懂不懂。一天，我被这些阴阳怪气的叫声吵醒，接着，一种久违的声音即从楼下那对老夫老妻的鸟笼里传来了。这种声音我小时候学过，两手一搭，右掌将左掌握成拳状，嘴往两根拇指间吹气，靠右手小指的张翕来调节音调。在老家，用这种声音学猫头鹰的叫声，能哄来一树的花鸟；这种方法，还可以学绿斑鸠的叫声，可它婉转，像一首跌宕的爱情诗，一般诗人是写不出这么美妙诗行的：

正好八点，一群黑色的精灵直扑扑地往办公室的窗子飞来，把玻璃窗撞得非响。 有的朝开着的窗子飞进屋来，又惊慌失措地飞走。 此时此境，如果在波浪壮阔的海边，那就该是高尔基所说的海燕，就是黑色闪电了。 可惜它们来错地方了，这不是海边，成不了海燕，也成不了黑色闪电；这也不是大连市中山区民康街15号，成不了《海燕》编辑部的。<br>下班回家，正忙着淘米下锅，窗外便伶伶仃仃地传来画眉的叫声。 这不是城市里退休老叟眷养的那类画眉，正是我下山路上遇到的那种画眉鸟。 隔着纱窗往外看，对面窗台上挂着一只鸟笼，笼子里确实关着一只鸟，但不盲确认。 那幢房子我去过，挂鸟笼的旁边就是洗澡间，几次拿起望远镜，又恐洞穿玻璃，看见湿漉漉的美体，只好站在纱窗旁边，学着鸟的鸣叫打几个口哨。 笼子里的鸟跳得更欢、叫得更勤。<br>我断定，那就是画眉。<br>每次做饭，看着它伶仃无望地蹲站在对面窗台的笼子里，我便与它对调，引起它一阵不小的企盼，给它一个并不存在的希望。<br>自打入城，我养坏了一种习惯：午休怕声音，那些不是鸟叫的声音。 比如收废纸的，卖蜂窝煤的，磨剪子菜刀的，卖甜白酒的，叫声清苦，古怪阴阳，像唱，又像说，让人听得半懂不懂。 一天，我被这些阴阳怪气的叫声吵醒，接着，一种久违的声音即从楼下那对老夫老妻的鸟笼里传来了。 这种声音我小时候学过，两手一搭，右掌将左掌握成拳状，嘴往两根拇指间吹气，靠右手小指的张翕来调节音调。 在老家，用这种声音学猫头鹰的叫声，能哄来一树的花鸟；这种方法，还可以学绿斑鸠的叫声，可它婉转，像一首跌宕的爱情诗，一般诗人是写不出这么美妙诗行的：

At exactly eight o'clock, a group of black elves came straight to the office window, knocking the glass window into silence. Some came into the room towards the open window and flew away in panic. At this time, if it is on the sea with great waves, it should be the petrel as Gorky said, which is black lightning. It's a pity that they came to the wrong place. It's not the seaside. They can't become petrels or black lightning. It's not No. 15 Minkang street, Zhongshan District, Dalian. It can't become the editorial department of petrels.<br>When I came home from work, I was busy washing rice and cooking. Outside the window, I heard the sound of thrush. This is not the kind of thrush raised by the retired old people in the city. It's the kind of thrush I met on the way down the mountain. Looking out through the screen window, there is a bird cage hanging on the opposite windowsill. There is indeed a bird in the cage, but it is not blindly confirmed. I've been to that house. Next to the birdcage is the bathroom. I picked up the telescope several times. I was afraid that I would pierce the glass. I saw the wet body. So I had to stand by the screen window and learn how to whistle. The birds in the cage jump more happily and sing more frequently.<br>That, I concluded, was the thrush.<br>Every time I cook, I look at him squatting hopelessly in the cage on the opposite windowsill, and I will adjust with him, causing him a lot of hope, giving him a hope that does not exist.<br>Since I entered the city, I've broken a habit: I'm afraid of the sound during lunch break, which is not the sound of birds. For example, those who collect waste paper, sell honeycomb briquettes, grind scissors and kitchen knives, sell sweet white wine, have a clear and bitter voice, strange Yin and Yang, like singing, like saying, which makes people half understand. One day, I was awakened by these strange calls. Then, a long lost voice came from the birdcage of the old couple downstairs. I learned this kind of voice when I was a child. I used two hands together, and the right hand grasped the left hand into a fist shape. My mouth blew between the two thumbs, and I adjusted the tone by the back and forth of the right little finger. In my hometown, learning owl's voice with this kind of voice can coax a tree of flowers and birds; in this way, we can also learn green dove's voice, but it's gentle, like a love poem with ups and downs. Generally, poets can't write such wonderful lines:<br>