掀起電腦上邊位于東邊窗戶上的窗簾，自己仿佛置身于天藍色舞臺前的一個神圣劇院里。有那么一會兒,鄰居家樹上的天空中飄著一朵酷似Jimmy Durante鼻子的浮云，云朵漸漸的飄向北方，也便不成形狀了。

旁邊的云也飄過來，大的，小的，丁點兒大的一起飄走了。其中有些領先有些掉隊，這是很自然的事。

樹梢隨風搖曳，既像是攀附云朵，又像是在笑話他們。樹可能認為自己是真實的，扎根于土地的，而云不過就是積聚的水珠，偶爾遮住太陽的光輝。其實樹也是云，是綠葉做的云，幾乎都不怎么移動。樹慢慢的成長，變化，老去，就像天空的的浮云。

我不也正像一朵浮云?滿懷著種種的想法，感受和遠大的抱負到處漂移。

我不也是在四處嘗試卻總有未解的謎團?

我那些異想天開的見解不也是經常不經意的顯現在人們的面前?

在愛的微風以及憐憫的溫暖下，我不也是一朵向北飄移的浮云?

若是浮云如人，那人亦如浮云，我們是否都應該感受風，一時扎根這里，一時又被風吹向他處，隨其飄流?難道我們真的就如自己想像中的那樣堅如磐石嗎?

讓我飄吧!我要向天空高歌。我們只是人海中的滄海一粟。讓我們一起呼吸著微風的清新，尋找我們精神的根。

我拉上窗簾，頓時覺得心胸開朗，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.

掀起電腦上邊位于東邊窗戶上的窗簾，自己仿佛置身于天藍色舞臺前的一個神圣劇院里。有那么一會兒,鄰居家樹上的天空中飄著一朵酷似Jimmy Durante鼻子的浮云，云朵漸漸的飄向北方，也便不成形狀了。

旁邊的云也飄過來，大的，小的，丁點兒大的一起飄走了。其中有些領先有些掉隊，這是很自然的事。

樹梢隨風搖曳，既像是攀附云朵，又像是在笑話他們。樹可能認為自己是真實的，扎根于土地的，而云不過就是積聚的水珠，偶爾遮住太陽的光輝。其實樹也是云，是綠葉做的云，幾乎都不怎么移動。樹慢慢的成長，變化，老去，就像天空的的浮云。

我不也正像一朵浮云?滿懷著種種的想法，感受和遠大的抱負到處漂移。

我不也是在四處嘗試卻總有未解的謎團?

我那些異想天開的見解不也是經常不經意的顯現在人們的面前?

在愛的微風以及憐憫的溫暖下，我不也是一朵向北飄移的浮云?

若是浮云如人，那人亦如浮云，我們是否都應該感受風，一時扎根這里，一時又被風吹向他處，隨其飄流?難道我們真的就如自己想像中的那樣堅如磐石嗎?

讓我飄吧!我要向天空高歌。我們只是人海中的滄海一粟。讓我們一起呼吸著微風的清新，尋找我們精神的根。

我拉上窗簾，頓時覺得心胸開朗，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.