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Original Translation

Dwelling in the ordinary lanes and well-being

Hermit's life has been in the traditional sense seems to be regarded as being the highest level. But this is also a lonely aloof recluse, it is purely a recluse a few, but few who can not be used to meet the universal interpretation of happiness look like.
There is a saying little faint in the wild, hermit in the city. True happiness is not seclusion, to the market rather than the jungle to find.
Morning, through the antique carved lattice windows, a garden of exquisite bonsai slowly on a touch of gold makeup. That fried egg "thorn friends" sound curl rising, the air began to sound full of innocent children, cars start rhythm, sweet farewell between husband and wife, as well as neighbors plain simple hello. In all lanes, busy but not chaotic, lively but not noisy, not plain boring.
Hong Mei's green mountains of the green while not dripping, but the air was filled with the wilderness does not have life. Yellow street lights, each with a different mood benches are written, sweet and joy, sadness and joy, mixed together, in quiet and slowly fermented. Who will know the next corner in what kind of surprise would be a unique constant snack bar patrons? Stood, a jazz bar? Or a tall wooden bench with them the air is idle small cafe? Sitting on the wooden outdoor umbrellas propped on, and new acquaintances while drinking tea, while talking a little life, and perhaps a more comfortable.
Everything, polished by time, by that time and finally formed a habit, a tacit understanding, a culture.
And to house guest of neighbors and friends with one cleverly satirical tone with chores around, we have narrowed his eyes flashing with the same sly understanding; and family around the dinner table, title mouth full of food was also made ambiguous sound, some noisy, but no one bored.
Although the narrow alley, but the speed of the spread of Latin not live happy ... ...
With the city's high-rise buildings are dense and cold where they stand, the congestion of traffic, in the polluted air, people's happiness is a little broken, homeless. We live more and more spacious, more private. Self, is also planning into a single space, careful not to touch people's hearts, do not allow others to easily intervene. However, a quiet person will feel tired of those who had a very noisy warmth miss retrospect.
Compared to high-rise towers of Manhattan, people prefer the red dome of Florence under the sun flooded the ancient streets; brighter than the Lujiazui in the night, people will prefer slapstick full of children laughing in the Wanhangdu. However, even if it Cang grow old, support from the dream world of the old house should be quiet and dark gray, Wu cries of soft dialect, which side had the warmth and memories of the mixing of a small alley.
If a pair of fine eyes to care, actually each one corner occupied by moss and ivy, are dark green of the Psalms. Not elegant, not bold, just kind of plain happiness, simple.
Happiness is what Mo Yang, perhaps not difficult to answer, happiness is a spread of the Psalms, on the city's skies, those extraordinary poems lanes.
Night had fallen over, then scatter to the myriad of twinkling lights, how many ordinary happiness is dwelling in the lanes ... ...