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- 清秋路 黄叶飞——最有智慧的脱衣舞女 [2011/09]
- 生产夜话 [2015/03]
- 伊人母子 [2011/09]
- “闲常时只好鸟嘴，一时间没了智量”——从签署“京都协议”看美加两国的“智量”差距 [2011/12]
- 白猫、黑猫和野猫 [2011/12]
- 祥林，你面对现实吧！ [2010/11]
- 花里端详人一刻 [2011/10]
- 袒裎相见 [2014/12]
- 压力山大之不可一事 [2011/11]
- 胭脂水粉打扮前来，一个巴掌打将回去 [2011/10]
- 睡不着觉 [2011/12]
- 抖一抖 是草狗 [2018/02]
- 独自去寻欢 [2010/04]
- 斐济水和卡瓦汁——语不干典（二） [2014/11]
- 秋月（18+，有三俗内容，谨入） [2010/08]
- 周末话饼 [2011/07]
- 哪儿凉快哪儿呆着去 [2010/07]
- 热爱劳动（我的六一） [2010/06]
- 一座名叫马甲河的村子 [2010/06]
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- 坐到右边听 [2010/03]
- 缃琦的故事 [2010/03]
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- 是英雄自有光芒（写在七七事变纪念日） [2010/07]
“袅袅兮秋风，洞庭波兮木叶下。”（屈原《湘夫人》）
这可能是“秋风”在中国诗坛最初的亮相，趁秋风说句风凉话：这诗写得有点娘娘腔。不过，这是情有可原的：首先，诗描写的是“目眇眇兮愁予”的湘夫人，而不是“朔气传金柝，寒光照铁衣”的花木兰。再者，楚地位于南国，“夜半酒醒人不觉，满池荷叶动秋风。”是常有的景色；那种“北风卷地百草折，胡天八月即飞雪。”的气象，生长于江南的我，也是年愈不惑，来加拿大后才看到的。屈原是中华诗坛第一位成名的诗人，成就高、影响大，于是这“袅袅秋风”就有了工愁的传统了。后来者，即便是英才大略、气吞万里如虎的雄主，落笔秋风也是一味地缠绵：
秋风起兮白云飞，草木黄落兮雁南归。（刘彻《秋风辞》）
秋风萧瑟天气凉，草木摇落露为霜。（曹丕《燕歌行》）
更不用说那些“误作人主”的亡国之君和多情失意的文人了：
往事只堪哀，对景难排。秋风庭院藓侵阶。一任珠帘闲不卷，终日谁来？（李煜《浪淘沙》）
人生若只如初见，何事秋风悲画扇？ （纳兰性德《木兰词》）
这种拉扯秋风做铺垫，咀嚼个人悲欢的招式，洋人和今人也是活学活用或无师自通的：
Autumn winds blowing outside my window as I look around the room
and it makes me so depressed to see the gloom （ABBA《GimmeGimmeGimme》）
为什么一阵恼人的秋风
它把你的人
我的情
吹得一去无踪（《GimmeGimmeGimme》中文版《恼人的秋风》）
秋风多为西风，按“五行”说“西方主金”起意，故也叫“金风”。以“金风”代“秋风”，声音清越，颜色明亮，词曲中常为人喜用：
纤云弄巧，飞星传恨，银汉迢迢暗度，金风玉露一相逢，便胜却人间无数。（秦观《鹊桥仙》）
云接平岗，山围旷野，路迥渐入齐城；衰柳啼鸦，金风驱雁，动人一片秋声。（昆曲《寄子》）
秋风和“金”字沾了边，秋天又是收获的季节，“工愁”之外，免不了让人做利益的联想，于是有“打秋风”（亦作“打抽丰”）一说，多是指利用各种关系向人索取财物，如《红楼梦》第三十九回：“忽见上回打抽丰的刘老老和板儿来了”。
只要是与个人私欲或利益得失挂钩，这秋风便拖泥带水、令人气沮，不是磨磨叽叽，就是小里小气。再也见不到风卷清秋路，长驱千万里，摧枯拉朽、除旧布新，那彰显秋风本色的痛快和爽利。所以，对那些工愁献恨、婉约精巧的玩意审美疲劳之后，还是来读一读雪莱的《西风颂》罢：
《Ode to the West Wind》
I
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!
II
Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky's commotion,
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine aery surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith's height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear!
III
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave's intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic's level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: oh hear!
IV
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seem'd a vision; I would ne'er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.
V
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?