掀起电脑上边位于东边窗户上的窗帘，自己仿佛置身于天蓝色舞台前的一个神圣剧院里。有那么一会儿,邻居家树上的天空中飘着一朵酷似Jimmy Durante鼻子的浮云，云朵渐渐的飘向北方，也便不成形状了。

旁边的云也飘过来，大的，小的，丁点儿大的一起飘走了。其中有些领先有些掉队，这是很自然的事。

树梢随风摇曳，既像是攀附云朵，又像是在笑话他们。树可能认为自己是真实的，扎根于土地的，而云不过就是积聚的水珠，偶尔遮住太阳的光辉。其实树也是云，是绿叶做的云，几乎都不怎么移动。树慢慢的成长，变化，老去，就像天空的的浮云。

我不也正像一朵浮云?满怀着种种的想法，感受和远大的抱负到处漂移。

我不也是在四处尝试却总有未解的谜团?

我那些异想天开的见解不也是经常不经意的显现在人们的面前?

在爱的微风以及怜悯的温暖下，我不也是一朵向北飘移的浮云?

若是浮云如人，那人亦如浮云，我们是否都应该感受风，一时扎根这里，一时又被风吹向他处，随其飘流?难道我们真的就如自己想像中的那样坚如磐石吗?

让我飘吧!我要向天空高歌。我们只是人海中的沧海一粟。让我们一起呼吸着微风的清新，寻找我们精神的根。

我拉上窗帘，顿时觉得心胸开朗，格外清新。

I've opened the curtain of my east window here above the computer, and I sit now in a holy theater before a sky-blue stage.

A little cloud above the neighbor's trees resembles Jimmy Durante's nose for a while, then becomes amorphous as it slips on north.

Other clouds follow, big and little and tiny on their march toward whereness. Wisps of them lead or droop because there must always be leading and drooping。

The trees seem to laugh at the clouds while yet reaching for them with swaying branches.

Trees must think that they are real, rooted, somebody, and that perhaps the clouds are only tickled water which sometimes blocks their sun.

But trees are clouds, too, of green leaves-clouds that only move a little. Trees grow and change and dissipate like their airborne cousins.

And what am I but a cloud of thoughts and feelings and aspirations?

Don't I put out tentative mists here and there? Don't I occasionally appear to other people as a ridiculous shape of thoughts without my intending to? Don't I drift toward the north when I feel the breezes of love and the warmth of compassion?

If clouds are beings, and beings are clouds, are we not all well advised to drift, to feel the wind tucking us in here and plucking us out there? Are we such rock-hard bodily lumps as we imagine?

Drift, let me. Sing to the sky, will I. One in many, are we. Let us breathe the breeze and find therein our roots in the spirit.

I close the curtain now, feeling broader, fresher.

掀起电脑上边位于东边窗户上的窗帘，自己仿佛置身于天蓝色舞台前的一个神圣剧院里。有那么一会儿,邻居家树上的天空中飘着一朵酷似Jimmy Durante鼻子的浮云，云朵渐渐的飘向北方，也便不成形状了。

旁边的云也飘过来，大的，小的，丁点儿大的一起飘走了。其中有些领先有些掉队，这是很自然的事。

树梢随风摇曳，既像是攀附云朵，又像是在笑话他们。树可能认为自己是真实的，扎根于土地的，而云不过就是积聚的水珠，偶尔遮住太阳的光辉。其实树也是云，是绿叶做的云，几乎都不怎么移动。树慢慢的成长，变化，老去，就像天空的的浮云。

我不也正像一朵浮云?满怀着种种的想法，感受和远大的抱负到处漂移。

我不也是在四处尝试却总有未解的谜团?

我那些异想天开的见解不也是经常不经意的显现在人们的面前?

在爱的微风以及怜悯的温暖下，我不也是一朵向北飘移的浮云?

若是浮云如人，那人亦如浮云，我们是否都应该感受风，一时扎根这里，一时又被风吹向他处，随其飘流?难道我们真的就如自己想像中的那样坚如磐石吗?

让我飘吧!我要向天空高歌。我们只是人海中的沧海一粟。让我们一起呼吸着微风的清新，寻找我们精神的根。

我拉上窗帘，顿时觉得心胸开朗，格外清新。

I've opened the curtain of my east window here above the computer, and I sit now in a holy theater before a sky-blue stage.

A little cloud above the neighbor's trees resembles Jimmy Durante's nose for a while, then becomes amorphous as it slips on north.

Other clouds follow, big and little and tiny on their march toward whereness. Wisps of them lead or droop because there must always be leading and drooping。

The trees seem to laugh at the clouds while yet reaching for them with swaying branches.

Trees must think that they are real, rooted, somebody, and that perhaps the clouds are only tickled water which sometimes blocks their sun.

But trees are clouds, too, of green leaves-clouds that only move a little. Trees grow and change and dissipate like their airborne cousins.

And what am I but a cloud of thoughts and feelings and aspirations?

Don't I put out tentative mists here and there? Don't I occasionally appear to other people as a ridiculous shape of thoughts without my intending to? Don't I drift toward the north when I feel the breezes of love and the warmth of compassion?

If clouds are beings, and beings are clouds, are we not all well advised to drift, to feel the wind tucking us in here and plucking us out there? Are we such rock-hard bodily lumps as we imagine?

Drift, let me. Sing to the sky, will I. One in many, are we. Let us breathe the breeze and find therein our roots in the spirit.

I close the curtain now, feeling broader, fresher.