六月的思念： 《白芍之城》
《白芍之城》
六月的某个夜晚，
白芍离开了地面。
没有声音。
没有预兆。
它们只是忽然松开根部，
一朵接着一朵，
缓慢升向空中。
像一群经过长期练习的事物。
整座城市都看见了。
但没有人停下来。
红灯亮了又灭，
便利店的灯继续亮着，
出租车从花影下驶过。
人们照常说话，
照常回家。
第二天，报纸写着：
昨夜天气晴朗。
无异常现象。
白芍继续上升。
它们穿过电线，穿过楼群，
悬停在城市上空。
远远望去，
像有人把许多封没有寄出的信
拆开以后，
撒进了夜里。
其中有一朵停了下来。
它既不上升，
也不下降。
其余白芍绕开它，
像河流绕开石头。
第三天，有人发现那朵花还在那里。
有关部门派人来看。
他们举起望远镜，讨论很久，
最后得出结论：
天空中没有花。
众人满意地散去。
第四天开始，越来越多的白芍停了下来。
它们分散在城市各处——
学校上方、广场上方、
无人经过的小巷尽头。
夜里，它们偶尔轻轻移动一点，
像在校正某种看不见的坐标。
没有人知道原因。
或者说，没有人想知道原因。
孩子问：
为什么天上有花？
大人沉默了一会儿，
告诉他：
那是云。
孩子相信了。
从此以后，
他每次看见白芍，
都会说：
今天的云开得很好。
很多年过去。
城市不断扩建，
旧街道消失，旧房子消失，
许多人搬走，许多人老去。
只有那些白芍一直停在那里。
没有枯萎。
没有凋落。
像某种被遗忘的标点。
直到有一天，
最后一个记得它们原本长在地上的人死去。
第二天清晨，
所有白芍同时落下。
没有人抬头。
没有人听见。
报纸照常出版。
天气依旧晴朗。
无异常现象。
The City of White Peonies
One night in June,
the white peonies left the ground.
No sound.
No warning.
They simply loosened themselves from their roots
and rose into the air,
one after another,
slowly,
like things that had practiced this for a very long time.
The whole city saw them.
Yet no one stopped.
Traffic lights changed and changed again.
The convenience stores stayed open.
Taxis passed beneath drifting shadows of flowers.
People kept talking.
Kept going home.
The next morning, the newspapers reported:
Clear weather last night.
No unusual activity observed.
The peonies continued to rise.
They passed through power lines,
through towers of concrete and glass,
and came to rest above the city.
From a distance,
they looked like letters that had never been sent—
opened,
then scattered into the night.
One flower stopped.
It neither rose
nor fell.
The others curved around it,
the way a river bends around a stone.
On the third day,
someone noticed it was still there.
Officials were dispatched.
They raised binoculars,
held long discussions,
and eventually reached a conclusion:
There are no flowers in the sky.
Everyone was satisfied.
They went home.
Beginning on the fourth day,
more and more peonies stopped moving.
They appeared across the city—
above schools,
above public squares,
at the ends of alleys
where no one passed.
At night,
they would sometimes shift ever so slightly,
as though adjusting
to coordinates invisible to the eye.
No one knew why.
Or rather,
no one wished to know.
A child asked:
Why are there flowers in the sky?
The adults fell silent for a moment.
Then they told him:
Those are clouds.
The child believed them.
After that,
whenever he saw a peony overhead,
he would say:
The clouds are blooming beautifully today.
Years passed.
The city expanded.
Old streets disappeared.
Old buildings disappeared.
People moved away.
People grew old.
Only the peonies remained,
suspended where they were.
Never wilting.
Never falling.
Like punctuation marks
forgotten by history.
Until one day,
the last person who remembered
that they had once grown from the earth
died.
The next morning,
every peony fell at once.
No one looked up.
No one heard them.
The newspapers were delivered as usual.
The weather remained clear.
No unusual activity observed.