《亚得里亚海的琉璃梦》

北美仙人掌🌵

《亚得里亚海的琉璃梦》


文｜北美仙人掌🌵
乙巳深秋 · 加州



那一天，我从加州的晨雾里起身，向着地中海的方向飞去。飞机穿过云层，时间被海风的味道唤醒。窗外是克罗地亚的海岸——像一枚在光中旋转的蓝色贝壳。

抵达杜布罗夫尼克时，傍晚的阳光正缓缓坠入海面，古老的城墙在金色的余晖里闪烁。那是一座由石与梦构成的城市，每一块墙砖都透着岁月的温度。人们称它为“亚得里亚海的明珠”，但在我眼中，它更像是一首未完的诗：一半是战争后的沉默，一半是海风中的宁静。

行走在老城的石巷里，脚下是被岁月磨亮的青石，墙角盛着石榴与薰衣草。孩子们在广场上追逐鸽子，修女从教堂的阴影中走过，手里握着一串念珠。那一刻，时间仿佛凝住了，连空气都变得温柔。

在一处小咖啡馆，我点了一杯当地的Dingač红酒。服务生笑着说，那是克罗地亚最古老的葡萄酒之一。酒色深如夜，微苦却带着阳光的香气。海面上映出渔火，风轻轻掀起桌角的白布。那一刻，我忽然明白旅行的意义——不是去看新的风景，而是让内心的尘埃在光中慢慢沉静。

第二天，我前往普利特维采湖群国家公园。那是一片由水织成的梦境。湖泊层层相连，瀑布从石上倾泻，如同流动的丝帛。阳光穿透树叶，碎成无数金色的羽毛。人声渐远，只有水的吟唱在林间回荡。

我沿木栈道而行，脚下的湖水清澈得可以映出天的倒影。鱼在水底游过，像是时间的影子。此刻的我，不再是游客，而像一个久别归来的灵魂，在自然的怀抱里找到自己。

在斯普利特的古老港口，我看见戴克里先宫的遗迹。古罗马的拱门与现代的咖啡座并立，阳伞下的笑声与钟楼的回响交织在一起。历史在这里并未远去，而是以另一种姿态活在今日的光里。

傍晚的风从海上传来，带着盐与松木的味道。我走在石阶上，看见年轻人坐在港口边弹吉他，几个孩子追着海鸥奔跑。那一刻，我想起了家乡的湖水——马踏湖的芦苇与这海岸的波光，在心底悄悄重叠。

离开克罗地亚的那天清晨，我站在杜布罗夫尼克的城墙上，望着远处升起的薄雾。海浪拍岸，如心跳的回声。我知道，我将带走的，不只是风景，还有那份被海光洗净的宁静与温柔。

世界辽阔，人生短暂。
愿我们都能在旅途的某一瞬，
找到那片属于自己的蓝。

——北美仙人掌🌵
乙巳深秋 · 加州




The Luminous Dream of the Adriatic


By North American Cactus 🌵
Autumn, Year of Yisi · California



That morning, I rose from the mist of California and flew toward the Mediterranean. As the plane pierced the clouds, the scent of sea breeze awakened time itself. Outside the window, the coast of Croatia unfolded—like a blue shell turning slowly in light.

When I arrived in Dubrovnik, the evening sun was sinking into the sea. The old city walls shimmered in a golden afterglow. It was a city built of stone and dreams, every brick holding the warmth of history. They call it the Pearl of the Adriatic, but to me, it was an unfinished poem—half silence after war, half serenity carried by the wind.

Walking through the narrow stone lanes, my feet touched stones polished by centuries. Pomegranates bloomed by the walls, and lavender perfumed the dusk. Children chased pigeons in the square, while a nun passed through the church’s shadow, her rosary glinting faintly. Time seemed to pause; even the air turned gentle.

At a small café, I ordered a glass of Dingač, one of Croatia’s oldest red wines. The waiter smiled and said it tasted of sunlight and sea salt. The wine was dark as night, bittersweet yet bright with warmth. Fishing lights flickered across the water, and a soft wind lifted the white tablecloth. In that moment, I understood: travel is not to see new lands, but to let the dust within slowly settle in the light.

The next day I went to Plitvice Lakes National Park, a landscape woven entirely of water. Lakes cascaded into one another, waterfalls streaming like ribbons of silk. Sunlight broke through the trees into countless golden feathers. Voices faded; only the music of water remained.

I walked the wooden path, watching the sky mirrored perfectly in the lake below. Fish glided through the depths like shadows of time. I was no longer a traveler, but a soul returning home to nature’s quiet embrace.

At the ancient harbor of Split, I saw the ruins of Diocletian’s Palace—Roman arches beside modern cafés, laughter mingling with the sound of church bells. History had not departed here; it lived, quietly, in the sunlight of the present.

The evening wind came from the sea, carrying the scent of salt and pine. On the steps, young people played guitars while children chased seagulls. I thought of my own homeland—of the reeds of Ma Ta Hu, shimmering like this same water under the same sun.

On the morning I left Croatia, I stood upon the city wall of Dubrovnik, watching the mist rise from the horizon. Waves broke like the echoes of a heartbeat. I knew that what I carried home was not just a memory of places—but the peace and tenderness washed clean by the sea’s light.

The world is vast, and life is brief.
May we all, somewhere along the journey,
find our own shade of blue.

——North American Cactus 🌵
Autumn · California