美丽英文：世界很大，风景很美(txt+pdf+epub+mobi电子书下载)

作者：刘育红,魏丹娜

出版社：现代出版社

格式: AZW3, DOCX, EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT

美丽英文：世界很大，风景很美试读：

前言 爱美之心The Love of Beauty

The love of beauty is an essential part of all healthy human nature. It is a moral quality. The absence of it is not an assured ground [1]of condemnation, but the presence of it is an invariable sign of goodness of heart. In proportion to the degree in which it is felt will probably be the degree in which nobleness and beauty of character will be attained.[2]

Natural beauty is an all-pervading presence. The universe is its temple. It unfolds into the numberless flowers of spring. It waves in the branches of trees and the green blades of grass. It haunts the depths of the earth and the sea. It gleams from the hues of the shell and the precious stone. And not only these minute objects but the oceans, the mountains, the clouds, the stars, the rising and the setting sun—all [3][4]overflow with beauty. This beauty is so precious, and so congenial to our tenderest and noblest feelings, that it is painful to think of the multitude of people living in the midst of it and yet remaining almost blind to it.

All persons should seek to become acquainted with the beauty in nature. There is not a worm we tread upon, nor a leaf that dances merrily as it falls before the autumn winds, but calls for our study and admiration. The power to appreciated beauty not merely increases our sources of happiness—it enlarges our moral nature, too. Beauty calms our restlessness and dispels our cares. Go into the fields or the woods, spend a summer day by the sea or the mountains, and all your little [5]perplexities and anxieties will vanish. Listen to sweet music, and your foolish fears and petty jealousies will pass away. The beauty of the world helps us to seek and find the beauty of goodness.美的事物是永恒的喜悦：其可爱日增；永远不会消失。——约翰·济慈

爱美之心是健康人性不可或缺的一部分。爱美是一种精神品质。缺乏爱美之心并不能成为人们遭受谴责的正当理由，但是，拥有爱美之心却是心灵纯善的永恒标志。高尚与美好的品性到达的程度或许与对美的感受程度相称。

自然之美遍布大地。宇宙是美的殿堂。自然之美，在锦簇春花中呈现，在繁枝嫩叶间舞动，在深海幽谷间萦绕，在宝石与贝壳的瑰丽色彩中闪烁。不仅仅是这些微小的物体，就连那广袤的海洋，巍峨的群山，苍茫的云彩，耀眼的繁星，浩瀚的日升日落——所有这一切都洋溢着美。这美是如此珍贵，与我们最温柔、最高尚的情愫是如此切合，然而，想到芸芸众生居住在这美景之中，却始终对其视若无睹，是多么令人痛心啊！

所有人都应寻找与自然之美相伴的机会。我们踩过的昆虫，秋风来临前欢舞的落叶，所有这些都值得我们去研究与赞美。对美的鉴赏能力不仅可以为我们提供更多欢乐的源泉，也能丰富我们的道德修养。美，使我们焦躁不安的心安定下来，驱散我们的忧虑。深入田野或森林，在海边或深山中度过一个茫茫夏日，你所有的困扰和焦虑都会消失不见。聆听甜美的乐章，你那些愚蠢的恐惧和卑劣的嫉妒都会逝去。发现世界之美有助于我们寻找到纯善之美。【注解】[1]condemnation n. 谴责；定罪；谴责（或定罪）的理由；征用[2]pervading v. 遍及，弥漫（pervade的现在分词）[3]overflow v. 溢出，淹没；挤满，充满；洋溢；资源过剩[4]congenial a. 意气相投的；性格相似的；适意的；投缘[5]perplexities n. 困惑（perplexity的名词复数）；混乱；复杂；困难

Chapter 1 吟诵春的华美乐章CMhanotv ethme eRnt oefs pSlenp

【美丽诗情】致春天To Spring

春天的融化Spring Thaw

Every April I am beset by the same concern—that spring might not occur this year. The landscape looks forsaken, with hills, sky and forest forming a single graymeld, like the wash an artist paints on a canvas before the masterwork. My spirits ebb, as they did during an April snowfall when I first came to Maine 15 years ago. “Just wait,” a neighbor counseled. “You’ll wake up one morning and spring will just be here.”

And look, on May 3 that year I awoke to a green so startling as to be almost electric, as if spring were simply a matter of flipping a switch. Hills, sky and forest revealed their purples, blues and green. Leaves had unfurled, goldfinches had arrived at the feeder and daffodils were fighting their way heavenward.

Then there was the old apple tree. It sits on an undeveloped lot in my neighborhood. It belongs to no one and therefore to everyone. The tree’s dark twisted branches sprawl in unpruned abandon. Each spring it blossoms so profusely that the air becomes saturated with the aroma of apple. When I drive by with my windows rolled down, it gives me the feeling of moving in another element, like a kid on a water slide.

Until last year, I thought I was the only one aware of this tree. And then one day, in a fit of spring madness, I set out with pruner and lopper to remove a few errant branches. No sooner had I arrived under its boughs than neighbors opened their windows and stepped onto their porches. These were people I barely knew and seldom spoke to, but it was as if I had come unbidden into their personal gardens.

My mobile home neighbor was the first to speak. “You’re not cutting it down, are you?” Another neighbor winced as I lopped off a branch. “Don’t kill it, now,” he cautioned. Soon half the neighborhood had joined me under the apple arbor. It struck me that I had lived there for five years and only now was learning these people’s names, what they did for a living and how they passed the winter. It was as if the old apple tree gathering us under its boughs for the dual purpose of acquaintanceship and shared wonder. I couldn’t help recalling Robert Frost’s words:The trees that have it in their pent-up budsTo darken nature and be summer woods

One thaw led to another. Just the other day I saw one of my neighbors at the local store. He remarked how this recent winter had been especially long and lamented not having seen or spoken at length to anyone in our neighborhood. And then, recouping his thoughts, he looked at me and said, “We need to prune that apple tree again.”

每年4月我总是被同一个念头困扰着——今年的春天可能不会再来了吧。四周的景色看起来一片凄凉，小山、天空和森林灰蒙蒙的，就像艺术家的名画尚未完成之前画布上的底色一般。我的情绪十分低落，就像15年前我初次来到缅因州，迎来一次4月的降雪那样。“只有等等看了，”一个邻居劝我，“说不定哪一天你一觉醒来，春天已经来临了。”

果不其然，那年的5月3日，当我醒来时，发现屋外绿意逼人，简直让人惊异，春天好像开了闸一般突然间就来到了眼前。小山、天空和森林姹紫嫣红，展示出它们的蓝色和绿色。树叶舒展开来，黄雀翩翩飞来觅食，黄水仙也朝天竞相生长。

同时，还有那棵老苹果树。它耸立在我家旁边的一块荒地中。它不属于任何人，所以也就归每个人所有。苹果树乌黑扭曲的枝条因未经修剪而恣意蔓生。每年春天，它便蓬勃绽开花蕾，空气中弥漫着苹果花的芳香。当我开着车窗驱车经过之时，它让我觉得仿佛到了另一个天地，像一个孩子在乘坐水滑梯一样。

直到去年为止，我还以为只有我意识到了这棵树的存在。后来有一天，在一个明朗的春天引起的疯狂中，我拿着整枝器和修枝剪，想除去一些杂乱无章的树枝。我刚站到树下，邻居们就纷纷打开窗户，或者走到门廊上。这些人我几乎都不认识，也很少说过话，但眼前这情形就像我未经允许擅自闯进他们的私家花园一样。

一位住在活动房中的邻居第一个发言：“你不是要砍倒它吧？”当我砍掉一条树枝的时候，另一个邻居心疼得跟什么似的。“喂，别把它弄死了。”他警告道。很快，附近几乎一半的人都跑过来，和我一起站在了树荫下。我突然意识到我已经在这儿住了5年，直到现在我才开始了解这些人的名字，他们是如何谋生的，他们是如何过冬的。好像这棵老苹果树把我们召集到树下是为了双重目的：为了让我们彼此认识以及共享自然的美妙。这时，我不禁回忆起罗伯特·弗罗斯特的诗句：春树幽闭的芽中藏着碧绿即将长成荫荫夏木和幽幽树林

那次融洽的交流开了个好头。就在几天前，我在附近的店里看见一个邻居在购物。他说去年冬天特别漫长，无不遗憾地感慨长时间在这附近见不到邻居，也没跟他们说过话。然后，他又想了一下，看着我说：“我们需要再给那棵苹果树修修枝了。”美丽语录Who knows what the future will bring? Only time will tell.谁知道未来会如何，只有时间能够说明一切。

瓦尔登湖的春Spring of the Walden

One attraction in coming to the woods to live was that I should have leisure and opportunity to see the Spring come in. The ice in the [1]pond at length begins to be honeycombed, and I can set my heel in it as I walk. Fogs and rains and warmer suns are gradually melting the snow; the days have grown sensibly longer; and I see how I shall get through the winter without adding to my woodpile, for large fires are no longer necessary. I am on the alert for the first signs of spring, to hear [2]the chance note of some arriving bird, or the striped squirrel’s chirp, for his stores must be now nearly exhausted, or see the woodchuck venture out of his winter quarters.

On the 13th of March, after I had heard the bluebird, song sparrow, and red-wing, the ice was still nearly a foot thick. As the weather grew warmer it was not sensibly worn away by the water, nor broken up and floated off as in rivers, but, though it was completely melted for half a rod in width about the shore, the middle was merely honeycombed and saturated with water, so that you could put your foot through it when six inches thick; but by the next day evening, perhaps, after a warm rain followed by fog, it would have wholly disappeared, all gone off with the fog, spirited away. One year I went across the middle only five days before it disappeared entirely.

Every incident connected with the breaking up of the rivers and ponds and the settling of the weather is particularly interesting to us who live in a climate of so great extremes. When the warmer days come, they who dwell near the river hear the ice crack at night with a startling whoop as loud as artillery, as if its icy fetters were rent from end to end, and within a few days see it rapidly going out. So the alligator comes out of the mud with quakings of the earth.

One old man, who has been a close observer of Nature, and seems as thoroughly wise in regard to all her operations as if she had been put upon the stocks when he was a boy, and he had helped to lay her keel—who has come to his growth, and can hardly acquire more of natural lore if he should live to the age of Methuselah—told me—and I was surprised to hear him express wonder at any of Nature’s operations, for I thought that there were no secrets between them—that one spring day he took his gun and boat, and thought that he would have a little sport with the ducks.

There was ice still on the meadows, but it was all gone out of the river, and he dropped down without obstruction from Sudbury, where he lived, to Fair Haven Pond, which he found, unexpectedly, covered for the most part with a firm field of ice. It was a warm day, and he was surprised to see so great a body of ice remaining. Not seeing any ducks, he hid his boat on the north or back side of an island in the [3]pond, and then concealed himself in the bushes on the south side, to await them.

The ice was melted for three or four rods from the shore, and there was a smooth and warm sheet of water, with a muddy bottom, such as the ducks love, within, and he thought it likely that some would be along pretty soon. After he had lain still there about an hour he [4]heard a low and seemingly very distant sound, but singularly grand and impressive, unlike anything he had ever heard, gradually swelling and increasing as if it would have a universal and memorable ending, a sullen rush and roar, which seemed to him all at once like the sound of a vast body of fowl coming in to settle there, and, seizing his gun, he started up in haste and excited; but he found, to his surprise, that the whole body of the ice had started while he lay there, and drifted in to the shore, and the sound he had heard was made by its edge grating on the shore—at first gently nibbled and crumbled off, but at length heaving up and scattering its wrecks along the island to a considerable height before it came to a standstill.

吸引我居住林中的原因之一，就是我能够悠闲地在这里等待春天的降临。湖面的冰终于变成了蜂窝状，走在上面脚后跟都会不小心陷进去。积雪在浓雾、雨滴和渐暖的阳光下逐渐融化；白昼明显变长；我看到我不必再往火堆里添柴就能度过这个冬天，因为已经不需要太旺的火了。我全神贯注地静候着春的第一批信号，倾听飞来的鸟儿间或鸣奏的乐章，或是条纹鼠欢快的鸣叫声，想必它的库存快被掏空了吧，或者看土拨鼠小心翼翼地爬出它冬眠的洞穴。

3月13日，我已然能听到蓝知更鸟、歌雀和红翼鸫演奏的交响曲，而寒冰却依旧有近一英尺厚。天气渐暖，湖里的冰却没有明显地被水化掉，也没有像碎裂的河冰那样随波漂流，尽管近岸处已有半杆宽的冰完全融化了，但湖中心的冰依旧呈蜂窝状，并且浸满了水，因而你可以一脚踩透6英寸厚的冰面；但在第二天傍晚，或许它便会完全消散在暖雨之后的浓雾中，被雾霭诱拐得无影无踪。有一年，我曾在湖冰完全消失的5天之前，在湖中心悠然漫步。

对于我们这些居住在极端气候里的人，对每一件与河流、湖泊解冻或是天气稳定相关的小插曲都有极大的兴趣。天气渐暖时，居住在河边的人会在半夜听到冰面破裂的响声，如炮声般振聋发聩，仿佛它的冰脚镣完全断裂开来，几天后就会看到冰块迅速漂流而去。于是，在大地震动之时，短吻鳄从泥淖中爬了出来。

有一个老人密切地关注着自然，他似乎通晓自然的一切运转，仿佛在他年幼之时，自然便被放在了造船台上，而他还曾帮她安装过龙[5]骨似的——他现在已完全成熟，即便他活到玛土撒拉的年纪，也再难获得更多关于自然的知识。然而，我却很诧异地听到他对自然的活动表示赞叹，因为我本以为他与自然之间已再无秘密可言。他曾对我说，某一个春季的日子里，他持枪开着小船游玩，想用打野鸭来消遣时光。

那时，草地上依旧有冰，但河里的冰却已经融化了，他一路畅通无阻地从他居住的萨德伯里顺流而下，到达美港湖；在那里，他意外地发现，大部分湖面都被厚重的冰覆盖着。那天，天气晴朗，湖面依然残存着那么大的冰体，这使他非常惊讶。他没有看到野鸭，便将小船藏在湖中岛向阴的北面，自己则隐藏在南面的灌木丛中，等候野鸭的出现。

离岸三四杆的地方，冰都融化了，水面平静温暖，水底却很泥泞，这正是野鸭的最爱。于是他想，过不了多久就会有野鸭飞来。他静静地在那里趴了大约半个时辰，突然间，他听到一声低沉的响声似乎从很远的地方传来，极为庄重独特，是他从来没有听过的声音。那声音逐渐增大，仿佛会有一个能令全世界难以忘怀的尾音；一声愠怒的撞击般的轰鸣声响起，在他听来仿佛一下子就要有一大群飞禽在那里降落。于是，他飞快地抓住了枪，纵身而起，极为激动；然而，他却惊奇地发现，在他趴在那里的时候，整个冰体都移动了，慢慢地向岸边漂去，而他所听到的，正是冰块的边缘撞击湖岸的声音——起先是轻柔的啃咬、碎裂，然后冰块向上抛起碎冰四散在小岛上，最后，一切都归于平静。文化小课堂亨利·大卫·梭罗（Henry David Thoreau，1817—1862），美国著名作家、自然主义者、改革家和哲学家，19世纪超验主义运动的重要代表人物，代表作有散文集《瓦尔登湖》和论文《论公民的不服从权利》。梭罗的著作是根据他在大自然的体验写成，《瓦尔登湖》（1854）记录了他于1845—1847年在康科德附近的瓦尔登湖畔度过的一段隐居生活。在他笔下，自然、人以及超验主义理想交融汇合，浑然一体。【注解】[1]honeycombed a. 蜂窝结构的[2]note n. 笔记；音符；票据；注解；纸币；便笺；照会；调子[3]concealed v. 隐藏，隐瞒，遮住（conceal的过去式和过去分词）[4]singularly ad. 非常地；格外地；奇怪地；异常地[5]玛土撒拉（Methuselah），《圣经·创世记》中的人物，据传享年969岁。

尽享美丽春季Enjoying the Beauty of the Spring Season

The spring of the year is a favorite season for many people, and it is certainly easy to understand why this is so. The spring is when the earth comes back to life after a long cold winter, and it is in the spring when the first flowers begin to bloom and the green world begins to [1]return after its winter slumber.[2]

The power of spring and its regenerative effects are evidenced by the fact that every major religion includes a major holiday in the spring season. From Passover to Easter, it seems that every culture marks spring with a celebration of renewal and new life. It is easy to understand how in times past ancient cultures were overjoyed by the power of spring and the beauty of new life.

The spring is an important season for many hobbies, including of course gardening. For the gardener, the spring is one of the most pleasant times in thegarden. The spring is the time when the bulbs that were carefully planted in the fall begin to grow and blossom, and the [3]spring is when the first seedlings are carefully nestled in the garden. There is no doubt that the spring is one of the most beautiful, and most colorful, of all seasons for the gardener.

The spring is also a favorite time for home improvement projects that could not go forward while the weather was too cold. Whether it is [4]a small project like installing new downspouts or a large project like building a new garage or storage shed, the spring is one of the best times to work at improving the value and livability of the home. In the spring, the weather is neither too hot nor too cold, and the homeowner has plenty of daylight in which to work. It is no wonder that the spring season is one of the busiest for home improvement stores and warehouses.

For the outdoor sports enthusiast, there is nothing like the coming of the spring season. For the fisherman, the coming of spring means [5]the first day of trout season. For the avid hiker, spring means that those favorite trails are no longer impassable due to snow, and for the horseback rider spring means being able to take a ride without first bundling up. And of course spring means the opening of baseball season, a joy for spectators and players alike.

春季为许多人所爱，其中缘由不难追溯。度过漫长的寒冬，万物在春季复苏，花朵第一次绽开芬芳，绿色世界从冬眠中苏醒。

每个大型宗教都会在春季有一个盛大的节日，春的再生之力由此[6][7]可见一斑。从逾越节到复活节，似乎每一种文化都会在春季刻下重生或新生的印记。不难理解，远古时代的古典文化在春的强大力量和新生之美的感召下复苏，会带给人们怎样喜出望外的惊讶。

春季是各种爱好盛行的季节，其中自然也包括园艺。对园艺家而言，春季是展开园艺工作的最佳季节之一。秋天悉心栽种的植物在春季开始生长、开花，新生的幼苗也安心地在花园里扎下根来。毋庸置疑，美丽多彩的春季是给园艺家最好的馈赠。

春季也是住房改善计划最受欢迎的时节，这些计划在寒冷的天气是很难进行的。无论是类似安装新落水管这种小型项目，还是建设新的车库、仓库等大型项目，春季都是提高住宅价值和宜居性的最佳时期。春季气温适中，白日漫漫，有充足的时间让房主来运行这些项目。由此，春季成为家居装修商店和仓库最忙的季节之一，也就不足为奇了。

对于户外运动爱好者而言，春季的到来比任何事都让人激动。对渔夫来说，春天的来临代表着鳟鱼季的到来。对热爱远足的人来讲，他们喜欢的小径不再因积雪而无法通行。而骑马者不用再穿着臃肿的骑马装。当然，春季也是棒球赛季的开放时期，这对观众和运动员而言，无疑都是一件令人愉悦的事。美丽语录Life is a promise, fulfill it.生活是一个承诺，履行它吧。【注解】[1]slumber n. 微睡，安眠，熟睡；蛰伏[2]regenerative a. 恢复的；新生的；再生的；回热的[3]逾越节（Passover），开始于犹太教历七月十四日，并按惯例持续八天的节日，用来纪念犹太人从埃及的奴役下解放出来。[4]downspouts n. <美>水落管（downspout的名词复数）[5]avid a. 渴望的；贪婪的；热心的[6] b 复活节（Easter），西方重要节日，每年春分月圆之后的第一个星期日。基督徒认为，复活节象征着重生与希望，为纪念耶稣基督于公元30—33年之间被钉死在十字架之后第三天复活的日子。[7]nestled v. 舒适而温暖地安定下来（nestle的过去式和过去分词）；依偎；温暖舒服 地靠拢

栽种梦想Planting Dreams

I realized I was holding an apple tree in the palm of my hand. A [2]little seed with the potential to become a beautiful big tree—a tree that could grow thousands of apples in its lifetime. Thousands of apples, each containing several seeds, each capable of growing a new tree which again could produce thousands of apples. Why then the world wasn’t filled with apple trees?

It is a rule of nature that only a few of these seeds grow. Most never do or are destroyed early on in their growth.

And it came to my mind it’s quite often so with people’s dreams also. Wonderful ideas come to our minds but they die too soon—we [3]don’t tend to the little saplings, we don’t protect them as we should. And then one day we wonder what happened to our dreams—why did they never come true?

I put the apple seed on the table, and bent down to see how the light was reflected from it, this nature’s tiny wonder. I wondered when someone was seriously growing apples, how many times they had to [4]try to get a seed to germinate? How much work did it require?

Maybe it was like with our dreams: The seeds of your dreams did not automatically grow. Planting an apple tree, it might take many tries. You might meet dozens of people until you met the true friend.[5]

But if you kept on sowing the seeds of your dream, one day you would succeed. And after that others would comment you were lucky to be successful—when in fact you probably failed more often than you would like to count. But you were good at failing—you learned, you adapted, and then with your new knowledge you tried again. And again. And again. And one day success was yours.

I picked up the apple seed again—but instead of throwing it away I took an empty flower pot, poured some earth into it and planted the seed. Maybe one day it would grow into a proud tree. I’d never know if I didn’t try.

我意识到被我捧在手心里的是一棵苹果树。一粒小小的种子里孕育着能够长成参天大树的力量——这样的一棵树一生中能够结出成千上万的苹果。这成千上万的苹果中，每一个都有好几粒种子，每一粒种子都能再度成长为这样一棵能结出千万果实的大树。那么，为什么这个世界并没有栽满苹果树呢？

这些种子之中，只有一部分能够存活，这是自然法则之一。大部分种子都不具备生命力，或是在成长之初便被毁坏了。

映入我脑海的是这样一种想法：人们的梦想很多时候也是如此。奇妙的想法涌入脑海却很快被抹杀——我们并不会悉心料理这些树苗，我们没有尽我们所能去保护它们。然后有一天，我们会质疑，我们的梦想出了什么问题——为什么它们从来都不能实现？

我把苹果树的种子放在桌子上，弯下腰来看它反射出来的光线，看着自然界中这个微小而又神奇的存在。我思索着，如果一个人想要认真地栽培一棵苹果树，那么需要尝试多少次才能让一粒种子发芽？这又需要付出多少努力？

或许，这正如我们的梦想：梦想的种子并不会自己生长。种植一棵苹果树或许需要很多次尝试。就像你在遇到知己之前，总会穿越形形色色的人群一样。

但是，只要你坚持播下梦想的种子，总有一天你会成功。在那之后，其他人或许会说你能够取得成功实在是很幸运——但事实上，可能你失败的次数连你自己都数不过来。但你从失败中收获了很多——你收获了经验，适应了环境，然后你带着新得的知识再一次尝试。一次又一次。直到有一天，你终于成功。

我再次捧起这粒种子——但我并没有把它丢掉。我找到一个空的花盆，放进一些泥土，然后把它种在里面。或许有一天，它会成长为一棵枝繁叶茂的果树。如果我不去尝试，我永远都不会看到结果。美丽语录The best way to predict the future is to invent it.预测未来的最好方法就是去创造它。【注解】[1]palm n. 手掌，手心[2]potential n. 潜力，潜能；潜在性，可能性[3]saplings n. 幼树，树苗（sapling的名词复数）[4]germinate v. 发芽；生长；形成；产生[5]sowing v. 播种，散播（sow的现在分词）

紫丁香的回忆The Remembrance of Lilacs

The family had just moved to Rhode Island, and the young [1]woman was feeling a little melancholy on that Sunday in May. After all, it was Mother’s Day—and 800 miles separated her from her parents in Ohio.

She had called her mother that morning to wish her a happy Mother’s Day, and her mother had mentioned how colorful the yard was now that spring had arrived. As they talked, the younger woman could almost smell the tantalizing aroma of purple lilacs hanging on the big bush outside her parents’back door.

Later, when she mentioned to her husband how she missed those lilacs, he popped up from his chair. “I know where we can find you all you want,” he said. “Get the kids and come.”

So off they went, driving the country roads of northern Rhode Island on the kind of day only mid-May can produce: sparkling sunshine, unclouded azure skies and vibrant newness of the green growing all around. They went past small villages and burgeoning housing developments, past abandoned apple orchards, back to where trees and brush have devoured old homesteads.

Where they stopped, dense thickets of cedars and junipers and birch crowded the roadway on both sides. There wasn’t a lilac bush in sight.

“Come with me,” the man said. “Over that hill is an old cellar hole, from somebody’s farm of years ago, and there are lilacs all round it. The man who owns this land said I could poke around here anytime. I’m sure he won’t mind if we pick a few lilacs.”[2]

Before they got halfway up the hill, the fragrance of the lilacs drifted down to them, and the kids started running. Soon, the mother began running, too, until she reached the top.

There, far from view of passing motorists and hidden from encroaching civilization, were the towering lilacs bushes, so laden with the huge, coneshaped flower clusters that they almost bent double. With a smile, the young woman rushed up to the nearest bush and buried her face in the flowers, drinking in the fragrance and the memories it recalled.

While the man examined the cellar hole and tried to explain to the children what the house must have looked like, the woman drifted among the lilacs. Carefully, she chose a sprig here, another one there, and clipped them with her husband’s pocket knife. She was in no hurry, relishing each blossom as a rare and delicate treasure.

Finally, though, they returned to their car for the trip home. While the kids chattered and the man drove, the woman sat smiling, surrounded by her flowers, a faraway look in her eyes.

When they were within three miles of home, she suddenly shouted to her husband, “Stop the car. Stop right here!”

The man slammed on the brakes. Before he could ask her why she wanted to stop, the woman was out of the car and hurrying up a nearby grassy slope with the lilacs still in her arms. At the top of the hill was a nursing home and, because it was such a beautiful spring day, the patients were outdoors strolling with relatives or sitting on the porch.

The young woman went to the end of the porch, where an elderly patient was sitting in her wheelchair, alone, head bowed, her back to most of the others. Across the porch railing went the flowers, in to the lap of the old woman. She lifted her head, and smiled. For a few moments, the two women chatted, both aglow with happiness, and then the young woman turned and ran back to her family. As the car pulled away, the woman in the wheelchair waved, and clutched the lilacs.

“Mom,” the kids asked, “who was that? Why did you give her our flowers? Is she somebody’s mother?” The mother said she didn’t know the old woman. But it was Mother’s Day, and she seemed so alone, and who wouldn’t be cheered by flowers? “Besides,” she added, “I have all of you, and I still have my mother, even if she is far away. That woman needed those flowers more than I did.”

This satisfied the kids, but not the husband. The next day he purchased half a dozen young lilacs bushes and planted them around their yard, and several times since then he has added more.

I was that man. The young mother was, and is, my wife. Now, [3]every May, our own yard is redolent with lilacs. Every Mother’s Day our kids gather purple bouquets. And every year I remember that smile on a lonely old woman’s face, and the kindness that put the smile there.

那家人才刚刚移居到罗得岛，5月的那个星期天，这个年轻的女人感到有点忧郁。毕竟，这一天是母亲节——而她却与俄亥俄州的父母相隔800英里。

她那天早上给母亲打电话，祝母亲节日快乐。随后，她的母亲向她提起，因为春天已经来了，所以院子变得多么缤纷多彩。在她们通话的时候，年轻女人几乎可以嗅到悬垂在父母后门外大灌木丛上的紫丁香诱人的香气。

后来，当她向丈夫提起她是如何怀念那些紫丁香时，他突然从椅子上一跃而起。“我知道在哪儿能找到你想要的东西，”他说，“带上孩子，走吧。”

于是，他们出发了，驱车行驶在罗得岛北部的乡村小路上，那种天气只有5月中旬才会有：闪亮的阳光、蔚蓝色的晴空以及生机勃勃、随处可见的绿意。他们穿过一座座小村庄和一座座拔地而起的房屋，穿过废弃的苹果园，来到了树林和灌木丛掩映的老农场。

他们在那里停下来。车道两边长满了浓密茂盛的雪松、杜松和白桦树。眼前没有一棵紫丁香。“跟我来，”男人说，“翻过那座小山，有个老地窖，几年前是一个人的农场，四周长满了紫丁香。这块土地的主人说我随时都可以到这儿来。我肯定他不会介意我们采几束紫丁香的。”

还没等他们到达半山腰，?紫丁香的芬芳已经向他们飘了过来。于是，孩子们开始奔跑。很快，那位母亲也开始跑起来，直至到达山顶。

在那里，远离了过往司机的视野，避开了纷扰的文明世界，高耸的丁香花丛开满了硕大的圆锥形的串串花束，几乎把花茎压成了两折。那个年轻女人微笑着冲到最近的一处花丛，把脸埋在花丛中，啜饮着芳香，沉醉在重新唤起的记忆中。

在那个男人察看地窖，试图向孩子们解释这座房子必定是什么样子的时候，那个女人不由自主地漫游于紫丁香花丛中。她小心翼翼地从这儿摘一枝，那儿挑一束，然后用丈夫的袖珍小刀将它们砍下来。她不慌不忙，像欣赏稀有珍宝一样欣赏着每一朵花。

然而，他们还是回到了车上，走上了回家的路。孩子们叽叽喳喳说个不停，那个男人驾着车，那个女人坐在车里面带微笑，她的周围放满了鲜花，眼神里充满着向往。

当他们离家不足3英里时，她突然向丈夫大声喊道：“停车，就在这里停车！”

那个男人踩住了刹车。还没来得及问为什么，女人就已经下了车，匆匆走向附近的草坡，怀里仍抱着紫丁香。山顶上是一家疗养院，因为这是一个美丽的春日，所以患者正在室外和亲友溜达，或坐在门廊上悠闲地晃荡。

那个年轻女人走到门廊的尽头，只见那里有一个上了年纪的病人坐在轮椅里，独自一人，低着头，背对着其他人。年轻女人越过门廊栏杆，将鲜花放在了老太太的膝盖上。老太太抬起头，露出了笑脸。两个女人聊了一会儿，都十分兴高采烈。随后，那个年轻女人转身跑回到家人的身边。当汽车开动时，坐在轮椅里的那个女人挥手告别，手里紧紧地握着那束紫丁香花。“妈妈，”孩子们问，“那是谁呀？你为什么要把我们的花送给她？她是谁的母亲呀？”母亲说，她不认识那个老太太。但今天是母亲节，她显得那么孤独，而鲜花会让任何人快乐起来的。“再说，”她补充道，“我拥有你们，而且我还有自己的母亲，即使她离我很远。那个女人比我更需要那些鲜花。”

孩子们得到了满意的答案，但她的丈夫却没有。第二天，他买了半打紫丁香幼苗，栽到了院子四周，而且从那时起，每隔一段时间，他就会增加一些。

我就是那个男人。那个年轻的母亲，是我的妻子。现在，每年的5月，我们自家的院子里都会散发出浓烈的紫丁香的芬芳。每逢母亲节，我们的孩子都要采撷紫丁香花束。每年我都记得那位孤独的老太太脸上露出的笑容以及笑容里的慈祥和善良。美丽语录Love is a vine that grows into our hearts.爱是长在我们心里的藤蔓。【注解】[1]melancholy n. 忧郁；忧思，愁思[2]fragrance n. 芳香，香气[3]redolent a. 芬香的，有……气味的

春光烂漫的时节Hours of Spring

It is sweet on awaking in the early morn to listen to the small bird [1]singing on the tree. No sound of voice or flute is like to the bird’s song; there is something in it distinct and separate from all other notes. The throat of woman gives forth a more perfect music, and the organ is the glory of man’s soul. The bird upon the tree utters the meaning of the wind—a voice of the grass and wild flower, words of the green leaf; they speak through that slender tone.

Sweetness of dew and rifts of sunshine, the dark hawthorn touched with breadths of open bud, the odour of the air, the colour of the daffodil—all that is delicious and beloved of spring-time are expressed in his song. Genius is nature, and his lay, like the sap in the bough from which he sings, rises without thought. Nor is it necessary that it should be a song; a few short notes in the sharp spring morning are sufficient to stir the heart. But yesterday the least of them all came to a bough by my window, and in his call I heard the sweet-briar wind rushing over the young grass.[2]

Refulgent fall the golden rays of the sun; a minute only, the clouds cover him and the hedge is dark. The bloom of the gorse is shut like a book; but it is there—a few hours of warmth and the covers will fall open. The meadow is bare, but in a little while the heart-shaped celandine leaves will come in their accustomed place. On the pollard willows the long wands are yellow-ruddy in the passing gleam of sunshine, the first colour of spring appears in their bark. The delicious wind rushes among them and they bow and rise; it touches the top of the dark pine that looks in the sun the same now as in summer; it lifts and swings the arching trail of bramble; it dries and crumbles the earth in its fingers; the hedge-sparrow’s feathers are fluttered as he sings on the bush.

I wonder to myself how they can all get on without me—how they manage, bird and flower, without me to keep the calendar for them. For I noted it so carefully and lovingly, day by day, the seed-leaves on the mounds in the sheltered places that come so early, the pushing up of the young grass, the succulent dandelion, the coltsfoot on the [3]heavy, thick clods, the trodden chickweed despised at the foot of the gate-post, so common and small, and yet so dear to me.

Every blade of grass was mine, as though I had planted it separately. They were all my pets, as the roses the lover of his garden tends so faithfully. All the grasses of the meadow were my pets, I loved them all; and perhaps that was why I never had a “pet”, never cultivated a flower, never kept a caged bird, or any creature. Why keep pets when every wild free hawk that passed overhead in the air was mine? I joyed in his swift, careless flight, in the throw of his pinions, in his rush over the elms and miles of woodland; it was happiness to see his unchecked life.

What more beautiful than the sweep and curve of his going [4]through the azure sky? These were my pets, and all the grass. Under the wind it seemed to dry and become grey, and the starlings running to and fro on the surface that did not sink now stood high above it and were larger. The dust that drifted along blessed it and it grew. Day by day a change; always a note to make. The moss drying on the tree trunks, dog’s-mercury stirring under the ash-poles, bird’s-claw buds of beech lengthening; books upon books to be filled with these things. I cannot think how they manage without me.

For they were so much to me, I had come to feel that I was as much in return to them. The old, old error: I love the earth, therefore the earth loves me—I am her child—I am Man, the favoured of all creatures. I am the centre, and all for me was made.

In time past, strong of foot, I walked gaily up the noble hill that leads to Beachy Head from Eastbourne, joying greatly in the sun and the wind. Every step crumbled up numbers of minute grey shells, empty and dry, that crunched under foot like hoar-frost or fragile beads. They were very pretty; it was a shame to crush them—such vases as no king’s pottery could make.

They lay by millions in the depths of the sward, and I thought as I broke them unwillingly that each of these had once been a house of [5]life. A living creature dwelt in each and felt the joy of existence, and was to itself all in all—as if the great sun over the hill shone for it, and the width of the earth under was for it, and the grass and plants put on purpose for it. They were dead, the whole race of them, and these their skeletons were as dust under my feet. Nature sets no value upon life neither of minute hill-snail nor of human being.

I thought myself so much to the earliest leaf and the first meadow Orchis—so important that I should note the first zee-zee of the Titlark—that I should pronounce it summer, because now the oaks were green; I must not miss a day or an hour in the fields lest something should escape me. How beautiful the droop of the great brome-grass by the wood! But today I have to listen to the lark’s song—not out of doors with him, but through the windowpane, and the bullfinch carries the rootlet fibre to his nest without me.

They manage without me very well; they know their times and seasons—not only the civilised rooks, with their libraries of knowledge in their old nests of reference, but the stray things of the hedge and the chiffchaff from over sea in the ash wood. They go on without me. Orchis flower and cowslip—I cannot number them all—I hear, as it were, the patter of their feet—flower and bud and the beautiful clouds that go over, with the sweet rush of rain and burst of sun glory among the leafy trees.

They go on, and I am no more than the least of the empty shells that strewed the area of grass of the hill. Nature sets no value upon life, neither of mine nor of the larks that sang years ago. The earth is all in all to me, but I am nothing to the earth: it is bitter to know this before you are dead.

清晨醒来，聆听鸟儿在树枝上歌唱是多么美妙啊。人声和笛声都比不上鸟儿的歌声优美。这歌声里有一种独特的味道，将它与其他的音符区分开来。女人的歌喉能唱出一首完美的歌曲，管风琴是男人灵魂的荣耀。树上的鸟儿在啼叫着风的韵意——花草的低语，绿叶的呢喃，它们用那柔美的音调，讲述着彼此的故事。

露滴的甜美和阳光的缝隙，深色山楂树枝头绽开的蓓蕾，空气清新的气味，水仙花高雅的色彩——所有这美妙的一切，连同那惹人喜爱的春季一起婉转地流淌在鸟儿的歌声中。自然是神圣的，鸟儿的旋律就像它歌声中的树枝里流淌的树液，不假思索便已出口成章。那也不一定非要是一首完整的歌曲，在这个春光明媚的清晨，几个短促的音符便足以震撼人心。但就在昨日，淡淡的春意已悄然爬上我窗外的树杈，在鸟儿欢快的鸣叫声中，我仿佛听到荆棘甜美的声音随风掠过青草地。

太阳的金光如此绚烂，转瞬间便隐在浮云之后，树篱也变得昏暗了。金雀花的花瓣像一本闭合的书，但它仍在那里——几小时的温暖照射又会使它的花瓣舒展开来。草地上一片空旷，但不一会儿，心形的白屈菜叶又会在原来的地方出现。截去树梢的杨柳那长长的枝干在闪烁的阳光下现出橘红色，春季的第一缕颜色在树皮上展现。暖风在树杈间穿梭，树枝就随风舞动着身姿；风拂过黑松的树顶，阳光下的松树看起来就跟夏天时一样；微风又吹起树莓弓形的枝蔓，来回摇晃着；微风轻柔的手指将泥土风干、碾碎；篱雀在灌木上欢快地歌唱，春风抚动它的翎羽。

我很好奇，没有我的帮助，它们是如何做到这一切的——没有我帮助它们安排日程，鸟儿和花朵是如何知道季节的变迁？我日复一日悉心而又忠诚地记录着，山阴处的子叶早早发芽，鲜嫩的小草茁壮地成长，蒲公英浓郁青葱，款冬生长在厚实的土地上，惨遭践踏的繁缕躲在门柱下，一切都是那么的平凡和渺小，然而，对我而言却弥足珍贵。

每一片草叶都是属于我的，就好似我亲自逐个种下的一样。它们都是我的爱宠，就像我精心栽种在园中的玫瑰花。草地上的每一棵小草都曾是我的宠物，我是那么地喜爱它们，或许这便是为何我从未养过真正的“宠物”，从未种过鲜花，从未饲养过笼中鸟或其他生物的原因所在。在我的头顶上空，不时有野生的苍鹰自在地翱翔，我为何还要饲养宠物呢？它的飞行迅捷而自在，它自由地挥舞着羽翼，飞快地掠过成片的榆树和好几英里的林地，我因此而感到高兴；看到它自由自在地生活是一种乐趣。

还有什么能比它掠过蔚蓝天际时划过的弧线更美呢？这些，以及这片草地，都是我的爱宠。微风拂过，它们似乎要被风吹干、枯萎，在它们上空来回盘旋却从不降落的欧椋鸟停靠在草地上，这使得鸟儿看起来似乎更大了一些。流沙为它们带来祝福，它们便又茁壮地生长起来。日新月异，每日都会有一些新鲜的东西值得记录。树干上的苔藓逐渐干枯，狗蒺藜从泥土下探出头来，山毛榉鸟爪似的蓓蕾舒展了。这些趣事可以写满一本又一本的书。我无法想象，倘若没有我，它们会怎么样。

它们对我而言是那么的重要，而我开始感觉到，我对它们而言也同样重要。这是个历史久远的错误：我爱大地，因而大地也爱我——我是她的宠儿——我是人，所有生物中备受青睐的一个。我是宇宙的中心，所有的一切都是为我而生。

过去，我的腿脚还很灵便，我曾欢快地攀越从伊斯特本通往比奇角的那座高山，尽情享受阳关与微风的轻抚。每走一步都会踩碎无数细小的灰色贝壳，壳已风干，里面空无一物，如同白霜或易碎的珠子一般在脚底吱吱作响。它们是那么的美，踩在脚下有一种罪恶感——那是国王的陶器厂都无法制造的瓶饰。

成千上万的贝壳躺在草丛深处，当我极不情愿地踩碎它们的时候，我在想，每一个贝壳里都曾居住过一个鲜活的生命。那活跃的生命在其中感受着生命的乐趣，对它们而言，这便是一切——好似山顶上夺目的阳光是为它们而照耀，脚下的土地是因为它们才如此广袤无垠，花草树木的存在也因它们而有了意义。然而，它们却悄然逝去，整个族类的骨骼都化作我脚下的泥土。无论是对渺小的山蜗牛还是对人类而言，大自然并不会赋予生命任何意义。

我以为自己对最早抽芽的树叶和草地上开放的第一朵兰花都很重要——我对它们是那么重要，因此我应记录下云雀的第一声啁啾——我应宣告夏天的到来，因为如今橡树已绿；我不能遗漏草地上的每一天或每一刻，唯恐有什么会从我眼下溜走。林边低垂的雀麦草多美啊！但今天我需得聆听云雀的歌声——不是到户外，而是透过窗格纱聆听，而红腹灰雀等不及我的援助，已叼着纤维须根飞向鸟巢。

没有我的帮助，它们将一切都打理得很好。它们了解时光和季节——不仅是文明的白嘴鸦不用我费神，就连树篱边离群的动物和远处岑木林中的棕柳莺也不必我操心，它们的巢中拥有丰富的藏书。没有我，它们也过得很好。兰花和黄花九轮草——我不能逐一列举——我好似听到它们的脚步拍打地面的声音——花朵和蓓蕾，随风飘过的云彩，突如其来的甜润雨滴以及繁茂的树叶间透过的明媚光线。

万物生生不息，而我不过同散布在山间草地上空空的贝壳一样，终会随风而逝。大自然不会评估生命的价值，对我也罢，对多年前歌唱的云雀也罢，自然都是一视同仁。大地对我而言是头等重要的东西，但对大地而言我却无关紧要：在生命终止之前懂得这一点令人无比悲痛。美丽语录The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate.你越是赞颂生活，生活就越值得赞颂。【注解】[1]flute n. 长笛，长笛吹奏者；细长香槟杯；（柱上的）凹槽；（女服的）管状裙褶[2]refulgent a. <文>光辉的，辉煌的[3]trodden v. 踩，踏（tread的过去分词）；踩成；踏出；步行于[4]azure a. & n. 蔚蓝（的），天蓝色（的）[5]dwelt v. 居住，存在于（dwell的过去式和过去分词）

不一样的春天Springs Are not Always the Same

Springs are not always the same. In some years, April bursts [1]upon Virginia hills in one prodigious leap—and all the stage is filled at once, whole choruses of tulips, arabesques of forsythia, cadenzas of flowering plum. The trees grow leaves overnight.[2]

In other years, spring tiptoes in. It pauses, overcome by shyness, like my grandchild at the door, peeping in, ducking out of sight, giggling in the hallway. “I know you’re out there,” I cry. “Come in!” And April slips into our arms.[3]

The dogwood bud, pale green, is inlaid with russet markings. Within the perfect cup a score of clustered seeds are nestled. One examines the bud in awe: Where were those seeds a month ago? The apples display their milliner’s scraps of ivory silk, rose-tinged. All the sleeping things wake up—primrose, baby iris, blue phlox. The earth warms—you can smell it, feel it, crumble April in your hands.

Look to the rue anemone, if you will, or the pea patch, or to the [4]stubborn weed that thrusts its shoulders through a city street. This is how it was, is now, and ever shall be, the world without end. In the [5]serene certainty of spring recurring, who can fear the distant fall?

每个春季都有截然不同的韵味，有时候，4月一个惊人的纵身便降临到弗吉尼亚的山丘——霎时，所有的舞台都热闹起来，郁金香组起合唱队，连翘花舒展身姿，跳起阿拉贝斯克舞，榆叶梅演奏着华彩乐段。一夜之间，绿叶挂满枝丫。

有时候，春天踮着脚尖悄然来临。它踌躇着，带着满脸羞怯之意，就像我的小外孙躲在门外，一面偷偷窥视，一面躲避着我的视线，咯咯的笑声在走廊里回荡。“我知道你在外面，”我大声喊道，“进来吧！”然后，4月便一下子冲进我的臂弯。

淡绿色的山茱萸花蕾上镶嵌着黄褐色的花纹，在它无瑕的花萼里，栖息着二十几颗种子。我禁不住对这花蕾肃然起敬：一个月前，这些种子在哪里呢？苹果花就像女帽设计者一般，展示着它丝绸般柔顺的花斑，那象牙白的花瓣上微微晕染着玫瑰红。万物从沉睡中复苏——报春花，小蝴蝶花，蓝夹竹桃。春暖大地——你可以嗅到春的气息，感受春的温暖，触摸4月的阳光。

快看那小银莲，若你愿意，也可观赏豌豆的叶片，或是那遍布城市街道的顽强的菸草。它们以前便是如此朝气蓬勃，现在是，以后也会如此，这便是永不停息的世界。在春回大地的祥和安宁之中，又有谁会去害怕遥远的秋季？美丽语录Disaster is unpredictable; we should treasure the present.灾难是不可预料的，我们应该珍惜眼前的一切。【注解】[1]prodigious a. 异常的，惊人的；巨大的，庞大的；奇异的；非常的[2]tiptoes v. 踮着脚走（tiptoe的第三人称单数）[3]inlaid v. 把……嵌入 ( inlay的过去式和过去分词 )；镶饰（物品）[4]stubborn a. 顽固的，固执的；顽强的，有决心的；坚持的；棘手的[5]serene a. 沉静的，宁静的，安宁的；安详的；晴朗的；清澈的

自由翱翔Free flying

One windy spring day, I observed young people having fun using the wind to fly their kites. Multicolored creations of varying shapes and [1]sizes filled the skies like beautiful birds darting and dancing. As the strong winds gusted against the kites, a string kept them in check.

Instead of blowing away with the wind, they arose against it to achieve great heights. They shook and pulled, but the restraining string and the cumbersome tail kept them in tow, facing upward and against the wind. As the kites struggled and trembled against the string, they seemed to say, “Let me go! Let me go! I want to be free!” They soared beautifully even as they fought the restriction of the string. Finally, one of the kites succeeded in breaking loose. “Free at last,” it seemed to say. “Free to fly with the wind.”

Yet freedom from restraint simply put it at the mercy of an unsympathetic breeze. It fluttered ungracefully to the ground and [2]landed in a tangled mass of weeds and string against a dead bush. “Free at last” free to lie powerless in the dirt, to be blown helplessly [3]along the ground, and to lodge lifeless against the first obstruction.

How much like kites we sometimes are. The Heaven gives us adversity and restrictions, rules to follow from which we can grow and [4]gain strength. Restraint is a necessary counterpart to the winds of opposition. Some of us tug at the rules so hard that we never soar to reach the heights we might have obtained. We keep part of the commandment and never rise high enough to get our tails off the ground.

Let us each rise to the great heights, recognizing that some of the restraints that we may chafe under are actually the steadying force that [5]helps us ascend and achieve.不怕失败，就怕根本不尝试。——史蒂芬·卡格瓦

一个起风的春天，我看到一群少男少女迎风放着风筝，五彩缤纷的风筝布满天际，大小不一，形态各异，就像许多美丽的小鸟在空中自由地飞翔鸣叫。那些风筝似乎要随着一阵阵强风翩然起舞，却始终摆脱不掉风筝线的操控。

它们终于没有随风而逝，相反地，却随风而上，借助风力飞到了更高处。它们摇摆着，拉扯着，但风筝线的制伏和笨重的尾巴控制着它们的身躯，使它们只能迎风而上。它们挣扎着、抖动着身躯，想要挣脱风筝线的束缚，看起来好像在说：“放我走！放我走！我想要自由！”即便是在同风筝线作抗争时，它们依旧保持着曼妙的舞姿。终于，有一只风筝成功了。“终于自由了，”它好像在说，“终于能够自由地随风而去。”

然而，从束缚中挣脱出来后，它只能被无情的风玩弄于股掌之中。它狼狈地摔向地面，降落在一片杂草丛中，就连风筝线也缠在了枯萎的灌木丛里。“终于得来的自由”使它无力地倚在泥土里，无助地随风在地面上翻滚着，当遇到第一个障碍物的时候，便死气沉沉地停滞在那里。

有时候，我们跟风筝是那么相像。上天带给我们逆境和束缚，赋予我们成长和获取力量所要遵循的准则。束缚是逆风的必要匹配物。我们中的有些人奋力地与这些法则抗争着，以至于无力再飞向本能达到的高度。若我们只遵从部分法则，又无法飞得够高，让尾巴从地面升起来。

让我们都飞向更高处吧！要知道，有些让我们恼怒的束缚，实际上是帮助我们提升和获取成功的平衡力。【注解】[1]darting v. 向前冲，飞奔；投掷（dart的现在分词）[2]tangled a. 纠缠的；紊乱的；混乱的；杂乱的[3]lodge v. 存放；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属[4]restraint n. 抑制，克制；控制，限制；拘束；约束力[5]ascend v. 攀登；继承；占领

花落了无痕Fallen Flowers Without Trace

To me, it was supposed a fine day. The sunshine in May warmly embraced the earth in her arms. It was already the time when the Spring was approaching to its end and flowers were fading away; nevertheless, in the courtyard, a tung tree was still in full blossom. The light pink flowers hung on all the branches like the windbells in a dreamland, with a silky faint fragrance filled in the air all over the yard. Out with a small chair, I seated myself leisurely under the tung flowers.

A small breeze stole in, slightly and gently at first, with the light pink flowers flying and falling softly in the light blue sky, like the elegant [1]melodious sound of Guzheng (a kind of Chinese traditional musical instrument), and the fragrant poetic lines, and the colorful butterflies flying and dancing. I was fascinated in the scene of the dance of the falling flowers. Only after a while, however, the wind was growing stronger, scraping and swinging the beautiful dresses of tung flowers to and fro in the air, and stirring up the fallen flowers and dust spreading all over the street.

Soon came down the raindrops, as big as beans, dropping onto my skin, cool and painful. I hurried back to my room and watched on the balcony. The branches were rustling in the wind and rain, and the flowers on the tree were swaying and falling in succession, which occurred to me the verse that “The wind blows the autumn leaves falling onto the ground, which again are blown up by the wind.” But at the time, I was not brought to the beautiful artistic conception but quite a pity “to appreciate the Spring till ending, only leaving a wet garment with tears”. These beautiful flowers, once gentle and lovely and voluptuous, having attracted bees and butterflies in a continuous [2]stream, could not withstand the attack of wind and rain, falling down and scattering on the earth, and turned into spring mud with much desolation from the disappearance of flourish and the dreams fading away.

A long time passed before the rain stopped. I walked out of my room, back to the yard, seeing fallen flowers in pieces scatter here and there. I stepped over the broken flowers lightly, when I couldn’t help [3]thinking of the sentimental mood of a poet in Song Dynasty, standing behind the curtain and chanting the verse: “A half mu of tung flowers melt a yard of the worrying rain quietly.” And a mass of melancholy [4]fancy thronged my mind as well.

After the baptism of wind and rain, the sky appeared cleaner. The few tenacious flowers left on the tung trees appeared brighter and more gorgeous. And the newly growing leaves now also looked even tender and greener. As the warm sunshine cast onto the earth again, I got feeling bright too.

The secret of flowers, I think, is to present spring with a fragrant posture, to display her born beauty at the cost of life during each life cycle, to fade away and turn into spring mud silently when conceiving fruits, and to foster new lives with the maternal gentleness. That is why flowers will whirl down so indifferently and elegantly, and smile so peacefully and tranquilly after the wind and rain.

于我，那是个阳光明媚的日子。5月的阳光热情地拥抱着大地。已是春末时分，百花逐渐凋零；然而，院子里的桐树上依旧满是花朵。淡粉色的花朵布满所有的枝丫，就像梦幻岛的风铃，如丝般柔滑惑人的幽香飘荡在整个庭院。我悠闲地坐在桐树下的椅子上。

一缕微风偷偷拂过，起先极其轻柔，浅粉色的花瓣被吹落，温和地飘荡在淡蓝色的天空，如同古筝（一种中国古典乐器）高雅悦耳的旋律，如同愉悦诗意的台词，如同缤纷的蝶在空中翩然起舞。我痴迷于落花优雅的舞姿。然而，不一会儿，风力变强，在空中不停地摩挲、晃动着桐花美丽的裙摆，然后将落花同尘土一起吹向街道。

豆大的雨滴很快落下，打在我的脸颊上，冰凉的触感刺痛了我的肌肤。我飞快地回到屋里，在阳台上观望一切。枝叶在风雨中瑟瑟作响，树上的花朵摇摆着，陆陆续续地脱离枝头，正应了那一句“秋叶吹落地，落地风又起”。但那时，我的脑海中并没有如此优美、诗意的设想，只是很遗憾“芳心向春尽，所得是沾衣”。这些美丽的花朵，一度温婉可爱、娇羞撩人，引得蜜蜂蝴蝶络绎不绝，如今也抵不过风雨的袭击，降落枝头，四散满地，化作春泥，繁华落尽，美梦散去，徒留一地凄凉。

雨下了很久。雨停后，我走出房间，回到院中，看到满地落花凌乱。我轻轻地踏在残花之上，忍不住联想到宋人倚帘低唱“桐花半亩，静销一庭愁雨”的伤感情怀，忧伤之情溢于言表。

风雨洗礼过后，天空越发明亮。桐树上残留的几朵顽强的桐花也更加鲜艳夺目。新发的枝叶看起来也更加柔嫩碧绿。温暖的阳光重新洒向大地，我的心情也变得明朗起来。

我想，花朵的秘密就是要展现给春季一个芬芳的姿态，在每一次生命的轮回中，倾尽毕生心血绽放她与生俱来的优雅，在孕育出果实之后便悄然逝去，化作春泥，用母性的温柔抚育新的生命。所以，她才会如此淡然优雅地旋落大地，平静安宁地笑对风雨。美丽语录Life is tough, but if you have the ability to laugh at it, you have the ability to enjoy it.人生艰难，但只要你有笑对人生的能力，你就有享受人生的能力。【注解】[1]melodious a. 有旋律的，产生旋律的；悦耳的[2]withstand v. 反抗；耐得住，禁得起[3]sentimental a. 伤感的；多愁善感的；感情用事的；寓有情感的[4]thronged v. 成群，挤满（throng的过去式和过去分词）

Chapter 2 聆听夏的悠然细语Listen to the Leisureolfy S Wumhimspeerr

【美丽诗情】荧荧夏夜Summer Night

夏季的温馨：采浆果Estival Warm Pick Berry

Sweet, wild berries plucked from roadside patches are a delightful side benefit of camping. Each summer, my husband Bob and I would send the kids off with their little metal buckets and the next day we would all enjoy the fruits of their labor: raspberry pancakes turned on the grill or firm blackberries to dot a hot cooked-on-the-campfire peanut butter sandwich.

The children looked forward to picking. We could usually find just about anything, from blueberries in early summer to raspberries and blackberries in August. Every year—except one.

“There’s nothing around here to pick!” five-year-old Julie [1]complained, poking a stick into the dying fire one late summer evening.

The season had been too dry; what few blackberries were left on the bushes were hard as marbles.

“Yeah. I looked all over,” added four-year-old Brian. “Wish there was something.”

That night, after the kids were zipped into their sleeping sacks and I was sure they weren’t awake, I handed Bob a bag of large marshmallows and I grabbed a bag of the miniatures.

“Get the lantern and follow me,” I said. “We’re going to make a memory.”

“What” He looked puzzled.

I told him about the kids’ campfire conversation and Bob grinned, “Let’s go!”

The next morning over pancakes, I said, “Kids, I think you’re going to have something to pick today.”

“Really!” Julie’s eyes shone. “What”

“What” echoed Brian.

“Marshmallows.” I said, as though I’d said it every summer. “Last night Daddy and I walked down toward the lake and it looks as though they’re just about ready to pick. It’s a good thing we’re here now. They only come out one day a year.”[2]

Julie looked skeptical, and Brian giggled. “You’re silly, Mom! Marshmallows come in bags from the store.”

I shrugged. “So do blackberries, but you’ve picked those, haven’t you Somebody just puts them in bags.”

“Daddy, is that true” He demanded.

Bob was very busy turning pancakes. “Guess you’ll just have to go find out for yourself,” he answered.

“Okay!”

They were off in a flurry, little metal buckets reflecting the morning sun.

“You nut.” Bob said to me, laughing. “It won’t work.”

“Be a believer,” I answered.

Minutes later our two excited children rushed into the clearing.

“Look! I got some that were just babies!” Julie held up a miniature.

“I picked the big ones!” said Brian. “Boy, I want to cook one! Light the fire, Daddy, quick!”[3]

“All right, all right, settle down.” Bob winked at me. “They won’t spoil.” He lit some small sticks while the kids ran for their hot dog forks.

“Mine will be better because they’re so little,” predicted Julie. Brian shrugged, mashing two large ones on his fork.[4]

We waited for the culinary verdict.

“Wow!” Brian’s eyes rounded with surprise. “These are sure better than those old ones in the bags!” He reached for another. “These are so good!”

“Of course,” I said. “These are really fresh!”

Julie looked puzzled. “How come all those marshmallow bushes don’t have the same kinds of leaves?”

“Just different kinds, that’s all,” I replied quickly. “Like flowers.”

“Oh.” She licked her fingers, seemingly satisfied with my answer. Then, studying the next marshmallow before she popped it into her mouth, she looked up with the sweetest smile and said softly, “We’re so lucky that they bloomed today!”

香甜的野生浆果散落在路边，点缀成一片露营的好地方。每年夏天，我和我的丈夫鲍博就会让孩子们带上他们的金属小篮出去采浆果，第二天我们就会享受这劳动的果实：烤架上的梅子煎饼，或是黑莓花生酱三明治。

孩子们也都很期待出去采浆果。很多时候我们会什么都没有采到，从初夏的蓝莓到悬钩子再到8月的黑莓。

一个夏日的夜晚，5岁的朱莉抱怨道：“这里什么都没有啊！”说着就一棍子捅进了已经熄灭的火堆里。

这个季节太干燥了，只剩下了很少一些黑莓，还硬得像弹珠似的。

4岁的布莱恩说：“是啊，我到处都找过了。”接着他补充道，“希望还会有一些。”

那天晚上，当孩子们钻进他们的睡袋以后，我确信他们已经睡着了，就递给鲍博一袋大浆果，然后我抓起一袋小的。“拿上灯笼，跟我走，”我说，“我们要去创造记忆了。”“什么？”他看着我迷惑地问。

我把孩子们的篝火对话告诉了他，他咧嘴笑了，说：“走！”

第二天早饭时，我说：“孩子们，我想今天你们一定可以采到一些野果了。”“真的！”朱莉的眼睛闪耀着光芒。“什么？”“什么？”布莱恩回应着。“浆果啊。”我说，就像每年夏季一样。“昨天晚上我和爸爸顺着小溪散步，好像那里就是有很多东西啊。我们现在能在这里太好了，因为它们每年只出现一天。”

朱莉看上去有点怀疑，布莱恩却咯咯地笑了。“你真傻，妈妈。浆果是从商店里买来的。”

我耸了耸肩膀。“那么，黑莓也是，但是你也已经摘了，不是吗？有人把它们装进了袋子而已。”“爸爸，那是真的吗？”他好像还不甘心。

鲍博正在忙着翻煎饼。他答道：“我想，你得自己去看看能不能采到吧。”“好！”

他们提着小篮，在阳光明媚的早晨蹦蹦跳跳地跑去。“你这个笨蛋。”鲍博笑着对我说，“那是没用的。”“要相信别人。”我答道。

很快，这两个兴奋的孩子跑了回来，开始清算自己的成果。“看！我采到一些小婴儿浆果！”朱莉提着那些迷你小浆果说。“我摘到大的！”布莱恩也快活地说。“爸爸，快点生火，我想做一些，快啊！”“好的，好的，等着啊，”鲍博朝我眨了眨眼睛，“他们没有失望。”

趁着孩子们跑去拿烤热狗的叉子时，他点燃了一些小木棒。“我的肯定更好，因为它们很小！”朱莉说。布莱恩耸耸肩，用他的叉子穿了两个大果子。

我们等着做好了之后来裁决。“哇！”布莱恩的眼睛里闪烁着惊奇。“这些肯定比那旧袋子里装的要好得多！”他拿起了另一个，说道，“太好了！”“当然了，”我说，“它们真的很新鲜！”

朱莉看上去有点困惑。“为什么它们都没有相同的叶子呢？”“种类不同的，孩子，”我赶快回答道，“就像花朵一样。”“哦。”她舔着她的手指，看上去似乎对我的回答很满意。然后，她开始研究下一个浆果，然后急忙塞到嘴里。她抬起头来，甜美地笑着，轻声说，“我们太幸运了，它们今天全都开了！”美丽语录Happiness, not in another place but this place…not for another hour, but this hour.幸福，不在别的地方而就在这里……不在别的时刻而就在此时。【注解】[1]poking v. 戳，捅；拨弄 ；伸出（poke的现在分词）[2]skeptical a. 怀疑的，多疑的[3]winked v. 眨眼，使眼色，示意 （wink的过去式和过去分词）[4]culinary a. 烹饪的，厨房的

浪漫夏日Romantic Summer

Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words.

Summer is the glorious time of the year when most of us can put on our shorts and short-sleeved shirts and actually feel the air and sunlight on our skin; when we don’t have to turn up the heat in the morning when we get up; but also when we lay hot and sweaty in bed, unable to sleep at times (those of us who don’t have air conditioning, [1][2]anyway); when we get the sunburn and the heatstroke and all those wonderful things.

All green and fair the summer lies, just budded from the bud of [3]spring, with tender blue of wistful skies, and winds that softly sing. How beautiful the summer night is, which is not night, but a sunless, [4]yet unclouded day, descending upon earth with dews and shadows and refreshing coolness! How beautiful the long mild twilight, which, like a silver clasp, unites today with yesterday![5]

Summer is a sailor in a rowboat and ice-cream on your dress when you’re four years old. Summer is a man with his coat off, wet sand between your toes, the smell of a garden an hour before moonrise. Summer is silk itself, a giant geranium and music from a flute far away!

No matter how we see it, summer has a magic that we can’t deny—all four seasons do. Here to those who have addressed that magic: enjoy your summer!

夏日午后——夏日午后；我一直都觉得这是世上最美的两个词语。

夏天是一年中最灿烂的时节，我们可以换上短裤和短袖衬衫，让皮肤享受空气和阳光的爱抚；清晨醒来不用再调高暖气；但有时我们也会大汗淋漓地躺在床上，热得无法入睡（至少我们当中没有空调的人会如此）；有时也会一身晒斑或者中暑，这些是我们经历着的所有美妙的事情。

夏季从春天的嫩芽中萌发出来，如此葱郁明朗，那湛蓝的天空令人无比向往，微风轻声唱着动听的歌谣。夏夜如此美好，与其称之为夜，不如说是一个缺乏阳光的朗朗白日，它携带露珠、暗影和丝丝清凉降临大地！漫漫黎明如此温和，如同一枚银扣，将今天与昨日紧紧相连！

夏季是划艇上的水手，是4岁孩童裙摆上的冰淇淋。夏季是赤裸上身的男人，是脚趾间湿润的沙土，是月升前一小时花园里飘荡的清香。夏季是一缕柔软的绸缎，是一株巨大的天竺葵，是远处飘来的清脆笛音！

无论如何看待它，夏季总有一种我们无法否认的魔力——四季独有的魔力。谨以此献给那些演绎夏日魔力的人们：尽情享受这芬芳夏日吧！美丽语录Life is a chain of moments of enjoyment; not only about survival.生活是一串串快乐时光；它不只关乎生存。【注解】[1]sunburn n. 晒伤，晒太阳过量而引起皮肤灼痛[2]heatstroke n. 中暑[3]wistful a. 渴望的；沉思的，默想的；引起怀念的[4]descending v. 下来（descend的现在分词）；向下倾斜，向下延伸；遗传下来；来自，来源于[5]rowboat n. 划艇；有桨的船；小船，小舟

暴风雨礼赞Glories of the Storm

It begins when a feeling of stillness creeps into my consciousness. Everything has suddenly gone quiet. Birds do not chirp. Leaves do not rustle. Insects do not sing.

The air that has been hot all day becomes heavy. It hangs over the trees, presses the heads of the flowers to the ground, sits on my shoulders. With a vague feeling of uneasiness I move to the window. There, in the west, lies the answer—cloud has plied on cloud to form a ridge of mammoth white towers, rearing against blue sky.

Their piercing whiteness is of brief duration. Soon the marshmallow rims flatten to anvil tops, and the clouds reveal their darker nature. They impose themselves before the late-afternoon sun, and the day darkens early. Then a gust of wind whips the dust along the road, chill warning of what is to come.

In the house a door shuts with a bang, curtains billow into the room. I rush to close the windows, empty the clothesline, and secure the patio furnishings. Thunder begins to grumble in the distance.

The first drops of rain are huge. They split into the dust and imprint the windows with individual signatures. They plink on the vent [2]pipe, and plunk on the patio roof. Leaves shudder under their weight before rebounding, and the sidewalk wears a coat of shiny spots.

The rhythm accelerates; plink follows plunk faster and faster until the sound is a roll of drums and the individual drops become an army marching over fields and rooftops. Now the first bolt of lightening stabs the earth. It is heaven’s exclamation point. The storm is here!

In spite of myself, I jump at the following crack of thunder. It rattles the windowpane and sends the dog scratching to get under the bed. The next bolt is even closer. It raises the hair on the back of my neck, and I take an involuntary step away from the window.[3]

The rain now becomes a torrent, flung capriciously by a rising wind. Together they batter the trees and level the grasses. Water streams off roofs and out of rain spouts. It pounds against the window in such a steady wash that I am sightless. There is only water. How can so much fall so fast? How could the clouds have supported this vast weight? How ran the earth endure beneath it?

Pacing through the house from window to window, I am moved to openmouthed wonder. Look how the lilac bends under the assault, how the day lilies are flattened, how the hillside steps are a new-made waterfall! Now hailstones thump upon the roof. They bounce white against the grass and splash into the puddles. I think of the vegetable garden, the fruit trees, the crops in the fields; but, thankfully, the hailstones are not enough in numbers or size to do real damage. Not this time.

For this storm is already beginning to pass. The tension is released from the atmosphere, the curtains of rain let in more light. The storm has spent most of its energy, and what is left will be expended on the countryside to the east.

I am drawn outside while the rain still falls. All around, there is cool and welcome feeling. I breathe deeply and watch the sun’s rays streak through breaking clouds. One ray catches the drops that form on the edge of the roof, and I am treated to a row of tiny, quivering colors—my private rainbow.

I pick my way through the wet grass, my feet sinking into the [4]saturated soil. The creek in the gully runs bank-full of brown water, but the small lakes and puddles are already disappearing into the earth. Every leaf, brick, shingle and blade of grass is fresh-washed and shining.[5]

Like the land, I am renewed, my spirit cleansed, I feel an infinite peace. For a time I have forgotten the worries and irritations I was nurturing before. They have been washed away by the glories of the storm.

起初，一种宁静的感觉悄然袭来。霎时间，万籁俱寂。鸟儿不再啁啾，树叶不再摩挲，昆虫不再歌唱。

整日闷热的空气变得压抑起来。低气压笼罩着树木，使花朵匍匐在地面，也压得我挺不起肩膀。带着内心若有若无的烦躁不安，我信步走到窗前。抬头望向西方的天空，我找到了答案——层层云朵交叠在一起，形成了一座巨大的白色云塔，伫立在蓝色天空下。

云彩夺目的白色光芒转瞬即逝。顷刻间，棉花糖状的轮廓变成扁平的砧状云，云层暴露出它黑暗的本质。它强行遮挡西行的晚霞，天色早早地暗了下来。紧接着，狂风四起，扬起一路尘埃，冰冷地宣告着即将到来的一切。

砰的一声，房门被风刮得关上了，窗帘在屋内翻飞。我赶忙跑去关上窗户，收起衣服，罩好露台上的家具。此时，远处传来了滚滚雷声。

大雨倾盆而下。它们降落在尘埃里，在窗户上画下一个个独特的印记。雨点敲打着通风管道叮铃作响，打在露台顶上发出扑通扑通的声音。树叶在雨水的摧残下瑟瑟发抖，人行道披上了一件闪亮的斑点大衣。

雨滴的节奏变得急促起来；叮铃扑通的敲打声越来越快，直至连成一曲连贯的鼓声，一滴滴的雨点如同千军万马涌向田野和屋顶。一道闪电划破苍穹。这是来自天堂的惊叹号。暴风雨来了！

一声惊雷乍起，我不禁跳了起来。雷声震得窗棂咯咯作响，吓得小狗赶忙躲到床下。第二道闪电来得更近了些。这一下惊得我寒毛倒竖，我不由自主地离窗户远了些。

风越刮越大，使得雨水飘忽不定，倾盆如注。风雨交加，猛烈地袭击着树木，压平了草地。湍急的水流从屋顶一泻而下，溢出了落水管道。雨水不停地泼洒在窗户上，遮挡了我的视线。眼前只剩如瀑的水流。怎么会有这么多的雨水如此急促地降落？云朵怎能承受如此大的重量？大地怎能经得起如此猛烈的冲击？

我在屋内踱步，走过一个又一个窗口，只得瞠目结舌地注视着这一奇观。我看到，在暴风雨的袭击下，丁香花折弯了腰，萱草匍匐在地面，山坡上的阶梯变成一幕新辟的瀑布！冰雹重重地敲打着屋顶。碧绿的草坪上弹跳着银白的冰珠，水洼里水花四溅。我开始担心菜园、果树和田地里的庄稼；但值得庆幸的是，这些冰雹并不是很大，数量也不多，不足以造成实际的损害。至少这次不会。

因为这场暴风雨即将过去，气压开始变得和缓，更多的阳光透过雨帘照射进来。暴风雨已经筋疲力尽了，余下的力气只够在东边的村子里作威作福。

雨还没停，我便走到屋外。环境清新宜人，世界无比宁静。我深吸了一口气，看到阳光穿透云层照耀大地。有一束光线照射在屋檐边的雨珠上，赠给我一抹微小、颤动的色彩——仅供我一人欣赏的彩虹。

我穿过潮湿的草地，双脚不时陷进泥泞的土壤中。水沟里的溪流载着满满的浊流奔腾而去，但那些小水洼和小水坑里的水正渐渐渗入地下。树叶、砖块、木瓦和青草都被冲洗得焕然一新，清莹闪亮。

我同大地一样得到了净化，内心无比平静。一时间，我忘掉了之前郁结心头的担忧和烦恼。它们已被这暴风雨洗刷殆尽。美丽语录Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass; it’s about learning to dance in the rain.生活不是等待暴风雨过境，而是学会在雨中舞蹈。【注解】[1]creeps v. 爬行，匍匐；缓慢地行进（creep的第三人称单数）[2]shudder v. 战栗；发抖；震动；颤动[3]capriciously ad. 任性地，善变地[4]saturated v. 浸透（saturate的过去式和过去分词）；使饱和；使充满[5]cleansed v. 弄干净，清洗（cleanse的过去式和过去分词）

永不逝去的夏日回忆My Summer Memories Is Up for Sale

My Mum sent me a real-estate listing today. It turns out that my uncle is selling the old family cottage where we spent our summers when I was a kid. And since nobody in the family can afford to buy it, pretty soon it will no longer be a part of the family at all.[1]

It is strange that I’m mourning the loss of a place I haven’t seen in years. The last time I was there, I was 16. It was just after the ownership had passed to my uncle, and Mum had recruited me to help my Gramma pack up the last of her things.

If I had known I wouldn’t see the place again, I might have made a proper goodbye. Then again, with the spirit of cultivated detachment that goes with mid-teenhood, I might not have.

Summers at the lake stretch back in my mind as far as anything. [2]Most of it is hazy—fishing for minnows off the dock; painting the floor of the sleeping cabin; the smell of wet bathing suits and wetter dogs; barbecues; tree houses; cans of pop stored in the cold spring.

In the centre of it all was my Grampa.

If you asked me to relate one complete memory of my Grampa, I might be hard-pressed to do so. But I can tell you that he was there. He was there on the dock in the sun, he was there lighting the woodstove, he was the sound of Nintendo games coming from the living room and the aroma of stew wafting up the stairs from the kitchen.

Grampa was the arbiter of table manners and of saying grace before meals. He was the only grown-up who knew the names of the block-people—the dolls I’d made by drawing faces on wood scraps—who inhabited the screen porch facing the lake.

My grandparents’ bedroom was a sea of books, boxes, papers [3]and oddities—a sprawling collection that has followed Gramma through countless moves, and still survives (and grows) to this day.

In that cottage bedroom, amid a veritable jungle of stuff, was a tiny, paneless window no bigger than a dinner plate. It was Gramma’s special window that looked over the living room below. She told me once that any time she was feeling sad, she would sit at that window; Grampa would see her, head upstairs, and put right whatever might be wrong. As a child I always believed it to be a sort of magic window.[4]

After Grampa died, the manifestations of his absence happened slowly, in pieces, for our family. There was a sense we had lost our calm centre. I’m guessing that as much as he was the arbiter of table manners, he had also been the arbiter of family disputes.

Minor tensions reared themselves more visibly than before. Most of them resolved with time. One of them just wouldn’t.

I am not entirely sure what happened between my uncle and the rest of the family. Whatever transpired ended sadly, in that estranged-relative story that is familiar to all too many people. I haven’t seen or heard from him since I was a teenager.

His disappearance from our lives took with it the cottage. But it [5]was always a small comfort to know that, in a very technical way, it was still the family’s cottage. This latest piece of news—the sale, I mean—is the last stage in a protracted process of loss.

I imagine that sometime soon, someone will trek down the rocky dirt road with a realtor to view the cottage. They will see everything only at face value—three bedrooms, two docks, a sleeping cabin and Grampa’s garden, which I’m sure looks nothing like the tended green paradise it once was. But there is so much they won’t be able to see.

They won’t see the piles of junk that once filled the master bedroom, or the ghosts of beloved family dogs whose spirits, I’m sure, still paddle about in the lake. They certainly won’t see Gramma’s magic window, which my uncle boarded up in the name of practicality. These little things are what filled that place for generations, like invisible cobwebs of memory covering every wall.

Nothing is immutable. The people, the places, the things we love can be, and too often are, taken from us. But that doesn’t make them any less enduring. The very lucky among us are left with happy memories in which to carry around the light of other days.

For myself, I know this: that there will never be any overgrown gardens or boarded-up windows in the cottage that lives in my mind. That particular incarnation is mine to keep, untouched by death or change, frozen and unmoving in the crystalline past.青春不是年华，而是心境；青春不是桃面、丹唇、柔膝，而是深沉的意志、宏伟的想象、炽热的感情。青春是生命的深泉涌流。——塞缪尔·乌尔曼

母亲今天给我寄来了一份不动产清单。我儿时的夏季都是在一栋古老的家庭别墅里度过的，现在叔叔准备将它卖掉。由于家族里没人能够买得起这套房子，很快它将不再是这个家的所有物。

奇怪的是，我在为即将失去这所多年未见的老房子而感到悲伤。我最后一次出现在那里，是我16岁的时候。当时，房子的所有权刚刚转到我叔叔名下，母亲找我帮助奶奶收拾最后的物品。

倘若我知道那是我最后一次看到这所房子，我或许会跟它来一次真正的道别。然而，带着青少年中期所养成的“超然”精神，我并没有向小屋做一个真正意义上的道别。

夏日湖边的记忆在我的脑海中无限延伸。大部分的记忆都很模糊——在码头钓鲦鱼；给卧舱的地板喷漆；湿泳衣的气味和奇异的酒味；烧烤；巢屋；寒春储备的汽水罐。

这些记忆的中心全部都围绕着我的爷爷。

如果你让我讲述一段关于爷爷的完整回忆，或许我很难做到。但我可以告诉你，他就在我的记忆里。他在阳光下的码头上，他在燃起木制火炉，他玩任天堂游戏的声音从客厅传来，他在厨房炖肉，浓郁香气飘荡在整所房子里。

爷爷是餐桌礼仪以及餐前祷告的指挥者。他是唯一一个知道街区里每个人名字的成年人——甚至包括我在木材边角上画的木偶——那些人居住在面朝湖泊的纱门门廊里。

爷爷奶奶的卧室里有大量的书籍、盒子、证件，以及许多奇特的东西——奶奶搬了无数次家，那些杂乱无章的收藏品依旧跟随着她，直至今日（甚至还增加了许多）。

在别墅的卧室里有许多东西，其中有一扇窗户没有玻璃，那扇窗极小，还不如一个小餐碟大。那扇窗对奶奶而言有特殊的意义，从窗口可以看到楼下的卧室。她曾告诉我，每次她感到难过的时候，她都会坐在那扇窗前；爷爷会从楼下抬头看她，他总能扭转乾坤，使事情好转起来，奶奶的心情便豁然开朗。儿时的我总认为那是一扇有魔力的窗。

爷爷去世后，家中缺少了他，问题就开始一个一个慢慢凸显出来。好似我们缺少了主心骨。我想，他不仅是餐桌礼仪的指挥者，还是家庭会议的决断人。

小的冲突比以前更加明显。大部分都随着时光的流逝而消失不见。但有件事却始终不会消散。

我并不完全了解叔叔和其他家庭成员之间都发生了什么。但不管是什么，结局都很令人痛心，这种亲人离间的故事对许多人而言并不陌生。我长大之后再没见过他，也没听到过任何关于他的消息。

他从我们的生活中消失了，还带走了我记忆中的别墅。但从严格意义上来说，它仍是我们家族的别墅，这一点或多或少能给我一丝安慰。这条最新的消息——我是指出售别墅——最终使我失去了它。

我想象着很快便会有人缓缓走过那条布满石子的土路，在房地产经纪人的陪同下考察别墅。他们只会从表面价值看这所房子的一切——三个卧室，两个船坞，一个卧舱，还有爷爷的花园，我确信那花园一定不再是以前那个被精心打理的绿色天堂。但还有很多东西是他们看不到的。

他们看不到主卧室里曾经堆积的废品，或是家人们爱狗的灵魂，我相信它们的灵魂一定仍在湖中戏水。他们当然也看不到奶奶的魔力窗，因为叔叔以实用的名义将那窗子封了起来。这些琐碎的东西在那里代代相传，就像看不到的记忆之网挂满所有的墙壁。

没有什么是永恒不变的。那些人、那些地方、我们的所爱之物总会离开。但这并不会贬低他们的价值。我们何其有幸，脑海中仍残留着美好的记忆，给我们日后的生活带来足够的光明。

于我而言，我知道：再不会有其他植被蔓生的花园，或别墅里被封住的窗子在我的心里扎根。那独特的化身是属于我的记忆，它们不会因生死离别而动摇，而是清晰地凝刻在回忆里。【注解】[1]mourning v. 表示深深的遗憾；哀悼；悲哀地说（mourn的现在分词）[2]hazy a. 有薄雾的；模糊的，朦胧的；不清楚的；糊涂的[3]sprawling a. 蔓生的，不规则地伸展的，杂乱地建造的[4]manifestations n. 表示，显示；示威（manifestation的复数形式）[5]in a very technical way 严格意义上说

黑莓酱的故事Blackberry Jam

“ .... and the weekend promises sunshine and southerly breezes. Make the most of it!”

The weatherman’s cheery voice came from the TV, precariously perched on a pile of books, the only way she’d yet found for its cable to reach the socket. Piles of books, papers, magazines had always been a feature of Maggie’s lived-in kitchen and they had grown in the dark days since January. But recent weeks had found her more able to cope with her situation and a measure of organization had returned to her life.

But, like the TV, it was a delicate balance. To the outside world, [1]she seemed cool and collected; inside she felt deeply vulnerable. Strategies had been adopted for coping, new routines found, places that would stir painful memories strictly avoided.

However, this was a small town and some places could not be ignored. Like the moor which looked down on her every time she opened her front door. Over the years, she and Mike had spent many hours walking on it, marking the changing seasons, content in each other’s company.

Late summer had always been a busy time as they followed in the footsteps of countless couples before them and gathered in the harvest for jam.

The forecast helped Maggie to make up her mind. Despite misgivings, the attraction of the moor in the late summer sun was too strong. It had to be faced one day on her own; it was too beautiful to stay away forever. The time had come to lay this ghost to rest and picking a few berries would keep her mind occupied. Decision made, Maggie turned off the TV and went to help with homework.

Saturday dawned bright and clear. Resisting the desire to turn back, Maggie drove along the familiar lanes that lead to the parking bay at the foot of the hill. The walk to the top seemed longer, steeper. She was out of breath, her legs ached and her heart pounded.[2]

But at last the path emerged from the trees and stretched away in the sun. On either side, the brambles clambered over heather and gorse, laden with clusters of fruit, ripe for picking; a riot of black and green, purple and yellow.

She need not have worried. The moor seemed to welcome her back like a long-lost friend and her spirits rose. Taking a deep breath of the clear air, Maggie deftly took a bag from her pocket and started to pick, stopping every now and then to straighten her back and enjoy the familiar view. With stained fingers and scratched hands to show for her efforts, the bag slowly filled with the dark, plump fruit.

Horse riders and walkers exchanged greetings as they passed. After a while, a solitary figure appeared on the path behind her, pausing and stooping occasionally, yet catching up quickly.

“Do you want to add these, then?”

The voice startled her, quieter than before but unmistakable. She hardly felt the pain of the brambles tearing into her hand as she jerked upright.

“What on earth are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d find you here, first weekend in September. Do you want these?” He held out a handful of berries, then tipped them into her bag. “Perfect day—are there any bilberries?”

How could he be so calm, so casual, when anger was welling up inside her? She wanted to rage at him for spoiling her perfect day, but the words in her head wouldn’t come out.

“I—I haven’t looked.”

“Let me have a bag, I’ll go see.” Mike made his way across the heather to the dense, low-lying bushes and started to move the leaves aside to seek out the hidden fruit.

Maggie turned away, her thoughts racing, her peace shattered. She thought about retreating to the safety of her car. But having come so far she was determined not to turn back. She ambled along the path, picking the occasional berry, enthusiasm gone.

He gathered slowly, moving backwards and forwards through the bushes, but always keeping up with her. After a while, he came back to the path. She answered his questions—the children, her job, her [3]parents—but always skirted round the main issue.

At last, they reached the point where all the moorland paths crossed. Maggie was glad of an opportunity to rest. Seating herself at one end of the bench, she stretched her legs in front of her. Mike sat down as well a little way along and stared, like her, at the patchwork of fields that lay beneath them. She couldn’t recall the number of times they had come to this spot and shared a picnic lunch. Maggie had been looking forward to this moment, but hunger had deserted her. His nearness unsettled her even more; why couldn’t he sit somewhere else.

“Are you on your own?” Stupid question. No sooner was it said than Maggie wished she had phrased it differently or thought about it more. But it was the question that she had been wanting to ask and there seemed little point in dressing it up with more words.

“Yes. In every way.” He kept his eyes on the fields. Maggie didn’t speak, waiting for him to go on. “It didn’t last into the Spring. She moved on.”

For the first time that day, Maggie turned and really looked at her husband. His eyes were deeper, his hair greyer, his face more lined, and his expression more worn. A sad face. Somewhere deep inside she wanted to pull him close, to tell him that everything was fine, to make those eyes smile again. But the pain that he’d caused could not be erased by a hug, even in this place, and she looked away.

After a while, she stood up. Despite the sunshine, there was a chill in the air.

“I’d better be going now.” She didn’t know what else to do or say, but nothing would be achieved by sitting on a bench. “Here, let me take that.” He took the bag and they made their way in silence. Maggie wondered what he was thinking, were his thoughts as much of a [4]jumble as hers?

At last, the cars came into view.[5]

“How did you get here?” she asked as she fumbled in her pocket for her keys.

“Train to Tonechester, then bus to here. There’s a bus back to Tonechester this evening.”

She resisted the sudden urge to offer a lift to the station. But perhaps there was a middle way.

“You’ve time for a cup of tea before you go?” She hoped it sounded more like a question than an order.

“And would there be scones and blackberry jam?”

Maggie laughed, relaxing for the first time since hearing his voice.

“You’re pushing your luck! Is that all you’ve come back for?” She didn’t give him time to reply. “No scones, but I’ve fresh bread which is just as good.”

And after tea, she drove him to the bus stop. Getting out of the car, he turned, “Will you be out next week?”

“Possibly, if the weather holds.”

A brief nod, and he joined the others waiting for the evening bus.

She didn’t wait. Making her way home, she chose the longer route that twisted along the foot of the moor. They had a long way to go, but, like the weather, maybe the outlook was promising.“……预计周末阳光明媚，并伴有徐徐南风。尽情享受吧！”

天气预报员欢快的声音从电视机里传来，电视机被放置在一摞书上，摇摇欲坠，因为只有这样放，才能将插头插进插座里。玛吉的厨房就没有闲置过，它的一大特色就是堆放着大量的书籍、报纸和杂志，而自从1月之后，那些东西在艰苦的岁月里越堆越多。但近几周，她能够更好地应对自己的处境，她的生活又恢复了一些条理。

但就像电视机一样，这只是一种微妙的平衡。对外界而言，玛吉似乎是一个冷漠而又镇定的人；然而她的内心却极其脆弱。她想方设法来适应生活，养成新的习惯，那些会勾起悲伤回忆的地方她是坚决不会去的。

然而，这不过是一个小镇，有些地方是不可能被忽视的。比如说，她每次打开前门都会看到那片高地在俯视着她。过去那些年，她和迈克一年四季都会在那里相携散步，因彼此的陪伴而感到心满意足。

夏末总是一个忙碌的时节，他们会跟随许多夫妇的脚步前去采摘，为制作果酱做准备。

天气预报使玛吉下定了决心。虽然心有顾虑，但夏末阳光下高地的诱惑力实在太大了。她早晚都有一天要独自面对的；那高地是那么的美，她根本无法抵抗它的诱惑。是时候来做个了断了，而且采集浆果能够使她忘却忧伤。下定决心后，玛吉便关掉电视机，去辅导孩子做功课了。

星期六的清晨，天空晴朗，空气清新。抑制住返回去的冲动，玛吉沿着那些熟悉的小巷，驱车驶向山脚下的停车场。通向山顶的路似乎变得更加漫长而陡峭。她爬得喘不过气来，双腿酸痛，心跳加速。

然而，那条山间小径终于在树丛中显露出来，向前延伸，直至消失在阳光下。路的两侧，树莓攀附在石楠花和金雀花之上，挂满了成簇的果实，果子已然熟透，静待采摘；有黑色和绿色，有紫色和黄色，簇拥成一片缤纷的色彩。

她本就不必担忧。那片高地如久未谋面的老友般欢迎着她的归来，她的情绪瞬间高涨。深吸了一口清新的空气，玛吉熟练地从口袋中拿出一个袋子开始采摘，时不时地驻足，伸展双臂，享受熟悉的景致。被染污的手指和被划伤的双手昭示着她的努力，袋子慢慢地装满了饱满的黑色果子。

骑马者和路人在相遇时互致问候。过了一会儿，一个寂寞的身影出现在她身后的小路上，时而驻足，时而弯腰，但始终紧随着她的身影。“你还想要这些吗？”

那声音吓了她一跳，虽然比以前更加温柔了，但肯定是那个声音。她猛地站起身，几乎没有感觉到树莓勾疼了她的手。“你究竟在这里干吗？”“我想你可能会在这里，9月的第一个周末。你想要这些吗？”他手里全都是浆果，然后将它们放进她的袋子里。“美好的天气——这儿有越橘吗？”

他怎能在她怒火中烧的时候仍如此冷静、如此随意？她想要对他发火，因为他毁了她完美的一天，但她脑海里盘旋的字眼却说不出口。“我……我还没找。”“给我一个袋子，让我去看看吧。”迈克穿过石楠花，走向浓密低矮的灌木丛，拨开叶子，开始寻找隐藏的果子。

玛吉转过身去，思绪纷乱，内心的平静被打破。她想要逃回车里，找到安全的依靠。但是，都已经走了这么远，她决定不回去了。她沿着小径缓缓前行，不时地采摘着浆果，但兴致全无。

他慢慢地采摘着，在灌木丛中前后穿梭，但总是跟随着她的步伐。过了一会儿，他回到小径上。她回答着他的问题——孩子、工作、父母——但总是回避着关键问题。

最后，他们来到了高地上所有小径的交会处。玛吉很高兴终于能休息一下了。她坐在长椅的一端，向前伸直了腿。迈克也在不远处坐了下来，和她一样盯着身下杂乱无章的田野。她已记不清他们曾多少次一起在这里野炊了。玛吉曾期盼着这一刻的到来，但她已经没有胃口了。他近在咫尺的距离使她更加烦躁不安；他为什么不能坐远点呢？“你一个人吗？”愚蠢的问题。话一出口，玛吉就想本该选其他的措辞，或是深入思考一下。但这是她一直以来都想要问的问题，再加上其他的修饰词似乎没多大意义。“是的。完全是。”他的眼睛一直盯着草地。玛吉没有说话，等待着他继续说下去。“没坚持到春天，她就离开了。”

那天，玛吉第一次转过身，正视她的丈夫。他的眼睛有些陷下去了，头发变得花白，脸上的皱纹也多了，而且他的表情看起来也更加疲惫。一张忧伤的脸。她内心深处有一个想法，想要把他拉近，告诉他一切都会好起来的，她想要那双眼睛再次充满喜悦。但他曾经所带来的痛苦并不是一个拥抱就能消除的，即便是在这里也不行，于是她转开了视线。

过了一会儿，她站起身来。阳光闪烁着，但空气中却有一丝寒意。“我现在该走了。”她不知道还能做些什么，或是说些什么，但坐在长椅上也不会有什么结果。“来，让我提着那个吧。”他接过袋子，然后他们便静静地走着。玛吉想要知道他在想什么，是否跟她的想法一样混乱？

最后，停车场出现在他们的视线中。“你是怎么过来的？”她一边在口袋中摸索钥匙，一边问他。“坐火车到通彻斯特，然后坐客车到这里。今晚有一辆开往通彻斯特的客车。”

她抑制住了突然想要送他到车站的冲动。但是，或许会有一个折中的方法。“你走之前有时间喝一杯茶吗？”她希望这句话听起来更像是一个问句而不是一个命令。“有烤饼和黑莓酱吗？”

玛吉笑了，自从听到他的声音之后第一次放松下来。“你得寸进尺了吧！你回到这里就是为了这些吗？”她没有给他回答的时间，“没有烤饼，但是有新鲜的面包，也很不错的。”

喝过茶之后，她开车送他到汽车站。下车之后，他回身问道，“你下周还会出去吗？”“或许吧，如果天气好的话。”

他迅速地点了下头，然后加入到等候晚班车的人群中。

她没有等下去。她在回家的路上选择了较长的一条路，那条路蜿蜒在高地的脚下。他们还有很长的路要走，但是，就像这天气，或许前景是充满希望的。美丽语录You can’t have a better tomorrow if you don’t stop thinking about yesterday.如果你无法忘怀昨天，就不会有一个更好的明天。【注解】[1]vulnerable a. （地方）易受攻击的；易受伤的；易受批评的[2]emerged v. 出现，浮现（emerge的过去式和过去分词）；暴露；摆脱[3]skirted v. 位于……的边缘；沿……的边缘走；绕开；避开（skint 的过去式和过去分词）[4]jumble v.（使）混乱，杂乱；使困惑[5]fumbled v. 乱摸，摸索；笨手笨脚地（fumble 的过去式和过去分词）

雨中的记忆Run Through the Rain

She had been shopping with her Mom in Wal-Mart. She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful brown haired, freckle-faced image [1]of innocence. It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the Earth it has no time to flow down the spout.

We all stood there under the awning and just inside the door of the WalMart. We waited, some patiently, others irritated because nature messed up their hurried day. I am always mesmerized by rainfall. I get lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories of running, splashing so [2]carefree as a child come pouring in as a welcome reprieve from the worries of my day.

Her voice was so sweet as it broke the hypnotic trance we were all caught in. “Mom, let’s run through the rain.” she said.

“What?” Mom asked.

“Let’s run through the rain!” she repeated.

“No, honey. We’ll wait until it slows down a bit.” Mom replied.

This young child waited about another minute and repeated, “Mom, let’s run through the rain.”

“We’ll get soaked if we do.” Mom said.

“No, we won’t, Mom. That’s not what you said this morning.” The young girl said as she tugged at her Mom’s arm.

“This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?”

“Don’t you remember? When you were talking to Daddy about his cancer, you said, ‘If God can get us through this, he can get us through anything!’”

The entire crowd stopped dead silent. I swear you couldn’t hear anything but the rain. We all stood silently. No one came or left in the next few minutes. Mom paused and thought for a moment about what she would say.

Now some would laugh it off and scold her for being silly. Some might even ignore what was said. But this was a moment of affirmation in a young child’s life. Time when innocent trust can be nurtured so that it will bloom into faith. “Honey, you are absolutely right. Let’s run through the rain. If get wet, well maybe we just needed washing,” Mom said. Then off they ran.

We all stood watching, smiling and laughing as they darted past the cars and yes, through the puddles. They held their shopping bags over their heads just in case. They got soaked. But they were followed by a few who screamed and laughed like children all the way to their cars. And yes, I did. I ran. I got wet. I needed washing. Circumstances or people can take away your material possessions, they can take away your money, and they can take away your health. But no one can ever take away your precious memories. So, don’t forget to make time and take the opportunities to make memories every day!

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven. I hope you still take the time to run through the rain.

她和妈妈在沃尔玛刚刚购完物。这个小女孩应该6岁了，一头漂亮的棕色头发，一脸的天真无邪。外面下着倾盆大雨。排水沟里的雨水已经满满地溢出了边缘，来不及排走，就迫不及待地涌向了大地。

我们都站在沃尔玛门口的遮篷下。大家都在等待，有的人很耐心，有些人则很窝火，因为这鬼天气又给他们匆忙的一天添乱了。雨天总是引起我的遐思。我出神地听着雨声，看着老天洗刷冲走这尘世的污垢和尘埃。记忆飞转，孩提时在雨中无忧无虑地奔跑的画面汹涌而至，暂时缓解了我这一天的忧虑。

小女孩甜美的声音打破了这令人昏昏欲睡的气氛。“妈妈，我们跑出去吧。”她说。“什么？”母亲问。“我们在雨里跑！”她又重复了一遍。“不，亲爱的，我们等雨小一点再走。”母亲回答说。

等了一会儿，小女孩又说：“妈妈，我们跑出去吧。”“这样的话我们会被淋湿的。”母亲说。“不，我们不会的，妈妈。你今天早上不是这样说的。”小女孩一边说，一边拉着母亲的手。“今天早上？我什么时候说过我们淋雨不会湿啊？”“你不记得了吗？你和爸爸谈他的癌症时，你说，‘如果上帝让我们闯过这一关，他就可以帮助我们闯过任何一关！’”

整个人群陷入了一片寂静。我发誓，除了雨声，你什么声音都听不到。我们都静静地站在那里。接下来的几分钟里，没有一个人来，也没有人离开。母亲停顿了一下，在想着该如何对孩子说。

现在或许有人会对此一笑置之，或者责备这孩子不懂事，有人甚至会完全忽略别人说了些什么。但这一刻，却是一个小孩子一生中需要被肯定的时候。若受到鼓舞，此时孩子单纯的信任就会发展成为坚定的信念。“亲爱的，你说得对。我们雨中狂奔吧。如果淋湿了，那也许是因为我们的确需要清洗一下了。”母亲说。然后她们就冲了出去。

我们都站在那里，笑着看她们飞快地跑过停着的汽车和地上的水坑。她们把购物袋高举过头顶想挡挡雨，但还是浑身湿透了。但是在她们身后，好几个人像孩子般尖叫大笑着，也跟着冲了出去，奔向自己的车子。当然，我也这样做了，跑了出去，淋湿了。我也需要接受洗礼。环境或其他人可以夺去你的物质财富，抢走你的金钱，带走你的健康，但没有人可以带走你珍贵的回忆。因此，别忘了要抓紧时间和机会，每天都给自己留下一些回忆吧！

世间万物皆有自己的季节，做任何事情也有一个恰当的时机。希望你有机会在雨中狂奔一回。美丽语录No one is in charge of your happiness except you.除了自己，没人能为你的快乐负责。【注解】[1]gushes v. 喷，涌出（gush的第三人称单数）[2]reprieve v. 暂缓；暂时解救

夜色撩人Night

Night has fallen over the country. Through the trees rises the red moon and the stars are scarcely seen. In the vast shadow of night, the coolness and the dews descend. I sit at the open window to enjoy them; and hear only the voice of the summer wind. Like black hulks, [1]the shadows of the great trees ride at anchor on the billowy sea of grass.

I cannot see the red and blue flowers, but I know that they are there. Far away in the meadow gleams the silver Charles. The tramp of horses’ hoofs sounds from the wooden bridge. Then all is still save the continuous wind of the summer night. Sometimes I know not if it be the wind or the sound of the neighboring sea. The village clock strikes; and I feel that I am not alone.

How different it is in the city! It is late, and the crowd is gone. You step out upon the balcony, and lie in the very bosom of the cool, dewy night as if you folded her garments about you. Beneath lies the public [2]walk with trees, like a fathomless, black gulf, into whose silent darkness the spirit plunges, and floats away with some beloved spirit clasped in its embrace.

The lamps are still burning up and down the long street. People [3][4]go by with grotesque shadows, now foreshortened, and now lengthening away into the darkness and vanishing, while a new one springs up behind the walker, and seems to pass him revolving like the sail of a windmill. The iron gates of the park shut with a jangling clang. There are footsteps and loud voices; —a tumult; —a drunken brawl; —an alarm of fire; —then silence again. And now at length the city is asleep, and we can see the night.[5]

The belated moon looks over the roofs, and finds no one to welcome her. The moonlight is broken. It lies here and there in the squares and the opening of the streets—angular like blocks of white marble.

夜色笼罩村庄。晕红的月亮从树林后爬上来，星辰稀稀落落地点缀着夜空。漫漫夜幕倾泻丝丝凉意和点点露珠。我坐在敞开的窗前，享受这莹莹月色，耳边充斥着夏季风沙沙的歌喉。宽阔的树影像黑色的船体，停泊在波浪起伏的草原之海。

我已寻不到红花和蓝花的身影，但我知道它们就在那里。银色的查尔斯河在远处的草丛里闪闪发光。木桥上传来马儿沉重的踢踏声。继而万籁俱寂，只余绵绵风声。有时我都无法辨别，那究竟是风声，还是不远处传来的涛涛浪声。村里的钟声敲响；我才感觉到其实我并非孤身一人。

城市的生活是如此不同！夜深人静，喧嚣嘈杂早已远去。踏进阳台，躲在这更深露重的寒冷夜色中，仿佛披上一件用黑夜织就的外衣。阳台下是栽着树木的人行道，就像一个深不可测的黑暗深渊，游离的灵魂坠入这沉寂的黑暗之中，紧紧拥抱着它挚爱的灵魂随波飘走。

长街上，路灯依旧闪着光亮。路过的行人拖着奇形怪状的影子，时而缩短，时而拉长，最终融入茫茫夜色，渐渐消失；不一会儿，一个新的身影出现在那行人身后，这影子如同风帆旋转着，越过那人走到了前面。随着一声刺耳的铿锵声，公园的铁门被关上了。凌乱的脚步声和嘈杂的吵闹声传来——一阵骚动；——酒后闹事；——火灾的警报声；——接着，寂静如初。现在，城市终于进入了梦乡，我们可以安静地欣赏夜景。

明月姗姗来迟，从屋顶上方俯瞰大地，发现没有一个人欢迎她的到来。月光破碎了。它零星地分布在广场各处和街道的宽阔处——像一块块棱角分明的白色大理石。美丽语录Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.即使在最黑暗的时刻，幸福也有迹可循，只要你记得为自己点亮一盏灯。【注解】[1]at anchor 抛锚；停泊着[2]fathomless a. 深不可测的，不可了解的[3]grotesque a. 怪诞的，荒诞不经的；奇形怪状的[4]foreshortened v. <绘画>透视缩短；节略，省略；使紧凑，使扼要（foreshorten的过去式和过去分词）[5]belated a. 来得很迟的；来得很晚的；过时的；陈旧的

阳光下的时光Hour in the Sun

When Thoreau wrote that line, he was thinking of the Walden Pond he knew as a boy.

Woodchoppers and the iron horse had not yet greatly damaged the beauty of its setting. A boy could go to the pond and lie on his back against the seat of a boat, lazily drifting from shore to shore while the loons dived and the swallows dipped around him. Thoreau loved to recall such sunny hours and summer days, “When idleness was the most attractive and productive business.”

I too was a boy in love with a pond, rich in sunny hours and summer days. Sun and summer are still what they always were, but the boy and the pond changed. The boy, who is now a man, no longer find much time for idle drifting. The pond has been annexed by a great city.

The swamps where herons once hunted are now drained and filled with houses. The bay where water lilies quietly floated is now a harbor for motor boats. In short, everything that the boy loved no longer exists—except in the man’s memory of it.

Some people insist that only today and tomorrow matter. But how much poorer we would be if we really lived by that rule! So much of what we do today is frivolous and futile and soon forgotten. So much of what we hope to do tomorrow never happens.

The past is the bank in which we store our most valuable possession: the memories that give meaning and depth to our lives.

Those who truly treasure the past will not bemoan the passing of the good old days, because days enshrined in memory are never lost.

Death itself is powerless to still a remembered voice or erase a remembered smile. And for one boy who is now a man, there is a pond which neither time nor tide can change, where he can still spend a quite hour in the sun.“我虽然不富甲天下，却拥有无数和煦阳光和晴朗夏日。”——亨利·戴维·梭罗

写这句话时，梭罗想起孩提时代的瓦尔登湖。

当时伐木者和火车尚未严重损坏湖畔的优美景致，小男孩可以走进湖中，仰卧在一叶扁舟上，自一岸缓慢而慵懒地漂向另一岸，美妙的歌声欢呼相伴，鸟儿在四周戏水翻飞。梭罗喜欢回忆这些和煦阳光和晴朗夏日，“慵懒是最迷人也是最富有动力的事情！”

我也曾是热爱湖塘的小男孩，拥有无数和煦阳光与晴朗夏日。如今，阳光和夏日依旧如故，男孩和湖塘却早已改变。那个男孩，现在已长大成人，不再有那么多的时间泛舟湖上，随意漂流。湖塘也被一个美丽的大城市兼并。

曾有苍鹭觅食的泥泞之地，如今已枯竭殆尽，上面盖满了房舍。睡莲静静漂浮的湖湾，现在成了汽艇的避风港。简言之，男孩所爱的一切已不复存在——只留在了他的记忆中。

有人坚持认为，只有今日和明日才是重要的。但如果真的依据这条规则来生活，我们将何其可怜！那么多我们今日所做的事，都是徒劳轻薄的事，也容易被忘记。那么多我们期待明天做的事，却从来没有发生过。

过去是一所银行，我们将最宝贵的财富——记忆珍藏其中。记忆赐予我们生命的意义和深度。

那些真正珍惜过去的人，不会悲叹过去的美好时光。因为藏于记忆中的时光从来不曾流逝。

死亡本身也无力止住记忆中的一个声音，或抹去记忆中的一次微笑。对现已长大成人的那个男孩来说，那儿将有一个湖塘，不会因时间和潮流而改变，在那儿，他可以继续在阳光下享受静谧的时光。美丽语录Shut out all of your past except that which will help you weather your tomorrows.放下那些不能帮助你前行的过去。

重返爱天堂Return to Paradise

Lisa stood facing the Caribbean Sea, feeling the faint breeze against her face; her eyes were shut and she felt the white sand warm between her bare toes. The place was beautiful beyond belief, but it [1]was still unable to ease the grief she felt as she remembered the last time she had been here.

She had married James right here on this spot three years ago to the day. Dressed in a simple white shift dress, miniature white roses attempting to tame her long dark curls, Lisa had been happier than she had ever thought possible. James was even less formal, yet utterly [2]irresistible in creased summer trousers and a loose white cotton shirt. His dark hair was slightly ruffled and his eyes were full of adoration as he looked at his bride to be. The justice of the peace had read their vows as they held hands and laughed at the sheer joy of being young, in love and staying in a five star resort on the Caribbean island of the Dominicana Republic. They had seen the years blissfully stretching ahead of them, together forever. They planned their children, two she said; he said four so they compromised on three (two girls and a boy of course); where they would live, the travelling they would do together—it was all certain, or so they had thought then.

But that seemed such a long time ago now. A lot can change in just a few years—a lot of heartache can change a person and drive a wedge through the strongest ties, break even the deepest love. Three years to the day and they had returned, though this time not for the beachside marriages the island was famous for, but for one of its equally popular quickie divorces.

Lisa let out a sigh that was filled with pain and regret. What could she do but move on, find a new life and new dreams? —the old one was beyond repair. How could this beautiful place, with its lush green coastline, eternity of azure blue sea and endless sands be a place for the agony she felt now?

The man stood watching under the palm tree. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dark-haired woman he saw standing at the water’s edge, apparently gazing out to sea as though she was waiting for something—or someone. She was beautiful, with her slim figure dressed in a loose flowing cotton dress, her crazy hair and bright blue eyes not far off the color of the sea itself. It wasn’t her looks that attracted him though; he came across many beautiful women through his work as a freelance photographer. It was her loneliness and intensity that lured him. Even at some distance he was aware that she was different from any other woman he could ever meet.

Lisa sensed the man approaching even before she turned around. She had been aware of him standing there staring at her and had felt strangely calm about being observed. She looked at him and felt the

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