In those days, those days which exist for me only as the most elusive memory now, when often the first sound you'd hear in the morning would be a storm of birdsong, then the soft clop of the hooves of the horse hauling a milk wagon down your block, and the last sound at night as likely as not would be your father pulling up in his car, having worked late again, always late,
那段日子 那段我的个人感受高于一切的日子里 那是我最想抹去的记忆 当我每天早上醒来时候，最先听到的 是小鸟的叫声 接连着马蹄踏地的声音 路上行着拉着装有牛奶的车 而夜晚的声音似乎都是 父亲开车归家 他又加班了，而且加班的很晚