水之经典

16．C D（4分）

17.“现实”是指都江堰之水流淌过的这片平凡土地，是都江堰灌溉农田、哺育人类这种最实际的功用。（2分）（意思对即可）

“净”是九寨沟之水清澄透明、纤尘不染的干净，是九寨沟远离尘嚣、静静存在的清净，是这水让人洗却尘俗、坚守贞操的纯净。（3分）（意思对即可）

18．第一问：都江堰的水，是一种入世的现实的水。（1分）

九寨沟的水，是一种出世的艺术的水。（1分）

第二问：这两处水，能启迪人们正确认识物质生活和精神生活的关系，思考自己究竟需要怎样的生活（2分）。都江堰的水，让人们懂得必须尽快在现实世界中找到自己的位置，实现自己的价值（1分）；九寨沟的水，使人们懂得不能让心灵被尘俗淹没，要在繁杂的现实中保持精神的高洁（1分）。

19.（10分）评分原则：观点明确，联想合理，分析精当，语言通顺，得8-10分；观点明确，联想合理，分析不具体，语言通顺，得5-7分；有观点但不够明确，联想基本合理，分析较具体，语言通顺，得5-7分；观点不明确，联想不够合理，分析不够具体，语言不够通顺，得1-4分。

苍凉的群像

（1）、B D（选对一个2分，选对两个5分，不扣分） （2）、流连:观览沉浸(1分),研究思考(2分)。远古的斜阳:历史文化气息或古典情怀,沧桑和厚重(3分) 。

（3）、第一问：①刘学颜在书斋中思考，在现实中行走；②他身上有着浓郁的英雄主义情结；③他还是一个有着古典浪漫主义情怀的人。(答对一点得1分。共3分。)

第二问：①刘学颜书中所写的多是历史人物, ②他们大都铁骨铮铮,顶天立地，③在苍茫广袤的黑土地上,④以不屈和英勇为悲壮的历史增添了极具光彩的一笔。（任选三点3分） （4）句子意思:写活着的人物, 很难做到笔墨酣畅、挥洒自如、客观透彻,因而也就很难写得精彩。对这种现象的看法:略。评分要点：本题12分。①解释句子意思，2分（意思对即可）；②谈看法，4分。

18．C 曲解了作者对人生的认识 E 作者在开篇的发问，没有表现对人类精神渴望归依却 又无所归依的理解与感叹。结尾的发问才有此含义。

19．答案：前方指的是目标、追求、理想（答出其中的一点即可，1分）

特点：①不确定性 ②引领作用 ③激励作用

（每点1分，意思对即可，后两条照抄原文不给分）

20．答案： 前两个“家”指那个可遮风避雨的实在的家（1分），后一个“家”指人的精神家园（2分）（答心灵栖息地、心灵归宿均可；如果答“由家的温馨与安宁养育起来的一种抽象的感觉”得1分）。

“路”实质上是指人生之路。（追求理想和目标的过程。）（1分）

21.答案：因为（1）人有克制不住的离家的欲望，一生总在漂泊、流浪，但人又摆脱不了浓浓的乡愁，少不了对故土，对家园的思念，这永久的矛盾注定人生永恒的痛苦。

（2）人一生总在追寻物质家庭之外的心灵归宿、精神家园，但它们往往是不确定的，难以企及的，很多人终其一生精神无所归依，所以人生只能是一场苦旅。（意思对即可，每点3分，共6分。）

17．C D （4分）

18．①他们有顽强的生命力

②他们有坚定的信仰

③他们有执著的追求

④他们没有俗利和杂念

（4分，答出任意三点给满分，照抄原句，分数减半。）

19．渲染环境的博大苍凉；表现环境的恶劣；衬托出生命力的顽强；为下文议论抒情作

铺垫。（4分，每点1分）

20．西藏是一个能与作者心灵相通的地方；西藏让人淡漠生存以外的欲望，使人的心灵

变得单纯宁静；西藏成为人抵御城市中伤的精神力量。

（6分，每点2分）

五、本大题共4小题，共18分。

17．（4分）AD（B第一段没有总领全文，暗示主题的作用。C集贤桥没有表现兄弟情。E本文风格并不绚丽飘逸）

18．（4分）要点：①指出修辞手法（1分）；②能结合词句作具体、合理赏析（2分）；③语言表达通顺（1分）。

19．（4分）①家乡的桥给江南水乡的人们提供了交通方便。②家乡的桥景色优美，富有诗情画意。③家乡的桥记载了家乡的辉煌历史。④家乡的桥记录了作者的成长经历。⑤家乡的桥记录了感人的亲情。⑥家乡的桥给作者以深刻的教益。（每点1分，答出其中四点即可得满分）

20．（6分）要点：①明确表述评价的具体内容（2分）；②指出评价对象的特点（2分）；③针对评价对象的特点谈自己的看法（2分）。

五、本大题共4小题，共18分

18．（4分）C E

19．①路亭能使生理和心理压力很大的人，身心暂时有个着落。②路亭能让人的生命获得片时的苏息，好再鼓起勇气，继续上路。（4分，意思答对即可）

20．①路亭有的点缀田畴广野中间②路亭有的高踞岭背③路亭有的筑在河滨（3分） 从实用价值和审美价值两个方面（2分）

21．①赞美路亭特殊的风貌和品质（2分） ②在物质文明突飞猛进的现代，呼吁对人身

心的关怀（3分）意思答对即可。

 

第二篇：经典散文

1 Of BeautyBy Francis BaconVirtue is like a rich stone, best plain set; and surely virtue is best, in a body that is comely（标志的，清秀的）, though not of delicate（精致的，脆弱的，微妙的，棘手的，灵敏的） features; and that has rather dignity of presence, than beauty of aspect.Neither is it almost seen, that very beautiful persons are otherwise of great virtue; as if nature were rather busy, not to err犯错，犯罪, than in labor to produce excellency（优点，阁下）. And therefore they prove accomplished, but not of great spirit; and study rather behavior, than virtue. But this holds not always: for Augustus Caesar, Titus Vespasianus, Philip le Belle of France, Edward the Fourth of England, Alcibiades of Athens, Ismael the Sophy of Persia, were all high and great spirits; and yet the most beautiful men of their times. In beauty, that of favor, is more than that of color; and that of decent（正派的，端正的，得体的） and gracious（高尚的，亲切的） motion（动作，运动）, more than that of favor.That is the best part of beauty, which a picture cannot express; no, nor the first sight of the life. There is no excellent beauty, that has not some strangeness in the proportion比例，均衡). A man cannot tell whether Apelles, or Albert Durer, were the more trifler（不务正业的人）; whereof（关于什么） the one, would make a personage（要人，个人） by geometrical proportions; the other, by taking the best parts out of divers faces, to make one excellent. Such personages, I think, would please nobody, but the painter that made them.Not but I think a painter may make a better face than ever was; but he must do it by a kind of felicity（幸福，幸运） (as a musician that maketh an excellent air in music), and not by rule. A man shall see faces, that if you examine them part by part, you shall find never a good; and yet altogether do well.If it be true that the principal（主要的） part of beauty is in decent motion, certainly it is no marvel（奇迹）, though persons in years seem many times more amiable（和蔼可亲的，亲切的）; pulchrorum autumnus pulcher; for no youth can be comely but by pardon（原谅，宽恕）, and considering the youth, as to make up the comeliness（漂亮）.Beauty is as summer fruits, which are easy to corrupt, and cannot last; and for the most part it makes a dissolute（放荡的，风流的） youth, and an age a little out of countenance（面容，脸色，支持）; but yet certainly again, if it light well, it makes virtue shine, and vices（恶习，缺点） blush（脸红，羞愧）.　　Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set.　　美德好比宝石，它在朴素背景的衬托下反而更华丽。　　In beauty, that of favor, is more than that of color; and that of decent and gracious motion, more than t

hat of favor.　　就形貌而言，自然之美要胜于粉饰之美，而优雅行为之美又胜于单纯仪容之美。　　That is the best part of beauty, which a picture cannot express; no, nor the first sight of the life. There is no excellent beauty, that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.　　最高的美是画家所无法表现的，因为它是难于直观的。没有哪种美能极致到不存在比例上的暇疵。　　Pulchrorum autumnus pulcher; for no youth can be comely but by pardon, and considering the youth, as to make up the comeliness.　　有一句拉丁谚语说过：“暮秋之色更美。”而尽管有的年轻人具有美貌，却由于缺乏完美的修养而不配得到最好的赞美。　　Beauty is as summer fruits, which are easy to corrupt, and cannot last; and for the most part it makes a dissolute youth, and an age a little out of countenance; but yet certainly again, if it light well, it maketh virtue shine, and vices blush.　　美犹如盛夏的水果，是容易腐烂而难保持的。世上有许多美人，他们有过放荡的青春，却迎受着愧悔的晚年。因此，应该把美的形貌与美的德行结合起来。这样，美才会发出夺目的光辉。YouthBy Samuel ErmanYouth is not a time of life, it is a state of mind, it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees, it is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions, it is the freshness of the deep spring of life.Youth means a temperamental predominance of courage over timidity, of the appetite for adventure over the love of ease. This often exists in a man of 60 more than a boy of 20. Nobody grows merely by a number of years, we grow old by deserting our ideas.Years may wrinkle the skin, but to give up enthusiasm wrinkles the soul. Worry, fear, self-distrust bows the heart and turns the spirit back to dust.Whether 60 or 16, there is in every human being's heart the lure of wonders, the unfailing childlike appetite of what's next and the joy of the game of living. In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wireless station: so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and power from men and from the infinite, so long as you are young.When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism, then you've grown old, even at 20, but as long as your aerials are up, to catch waves of optimism, there's hope you may die young at 80.　　Youth is not a time of life, it is a state of mind, it is not a matter of rosy cheeks, red lips and supple knees, it is a matter of the will, a quality of the imagination, a vigor of the emotions, it is the freshness of the deep spring of life.　　青春不是生命的一段时光，不是指红润的脸颊、红扑扑的嘴唇和柔韧的双膝；它是一种精

神状态，是指不懈的干劲、丰富的想象力和滚烫的情怀。它是生命春意正浓时鲜活的记忆。　　Nobody grows merely by a number of years, we grow old by deserting our ideas.　　人老不仅仅是岁月流逝所致，更主要的是懒惰、不思进取的结果。　　In the center of your heart and my heart there is a wireless station: so long as it receives messages of beauty, hope, cheer, courage and power from men and from the infinite, so long as you are young.　　在你我的心底，都有一座无线电台：它能在多长时间里接收到人间万物传递来的美好、希望、欢乐、鼓舞和力量信息，你就会年轻多长时间。　　When the aerials are down, and your spirit is covered with snows of cynicism and the ice of pessimism, then you’ve grown old, even at 20, but as long as your aerials are up, to catch waves of optimism, there’s hope you may die young at 80.　　当天线倒塌时，你的精神就被玩世不恭和悲观厌世的冰雪所覆盖，你就会衰老下去，即使你只是20岁；而你的天线巍然矗立着的时候，凭着高昂的乐观主义，你就有希望在80岁死去时仍然韶华不逝。3 What I Have Lived ForBy Bertrand RussellThree passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. These passions, in a wayward（任性的） course, over a deep ocean of anguish（苦恼痛苦）, reaching to the very verge（边缘，濒临） of despair.I have sought love, first, because it brings "ecstasy-ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy. I have sought it, next, because it relieves loneliness-that terrible loneliness in which one shivering consciousness（意识，知觉） looks over the rim of the world into the cold unfathomable（深不可测的，难解的) lifeless abyss（深渊）. I have sought it, finally, because in the union of love I have seen, in a mystic（神秘的） miniature（缩影）, the prefiguring（预示） vision of the heaven that saints and poets have imagined. This is what I sought, and though it might seem too good for human life, this is what-at last-I have found.With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine. And I have tried to apprehend the Pythagorean power by which number holds sway（摇摆，摇动） above the flux（变迁）. A little of this, but not much, I have achieved.Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate（反响） in my heart. Children in famine, victims tortured by oppressors, helpless old people a hated burden to their pain make a mockery o

f what human life should be. I long to alleviate the evil, but I can't, and I too suffer.This has been my life. I have found it worth living, and would gladly live it again if the chance were offered me.　　Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind.　　　　有三种简单然而无比强烈的激情左右了我的一生：对爱的渴望，对知识的探索和对人类苦难的难以忍受的怜悯。　　　　I have sought love, first, because it brings ecstasy-ecstasy so great that I would often have sacrificed all the rest of life for a few hours of this joy.　　　　我寻找爱，首先是因为它使人心醉神迷，这种陶醉是如此的美妙，使我愿意牺牲所有的余生去换取几个小时这样的欣喜。　　　　With equal passion I have sought knowledge. I have wished to understand the hearts of men. I have wished to know why the stars shine.　　　　以同样的激情我探索知识。我希望能够理解人类的心灵。我希望能够知道群星为何闪烁。　　　　Love and knowledge, so far as they were possible, led upward toward the heavens. But always pity brought me back to earth. Echoes of cries of pain reverberate in my heart.　　　　爱和知识，只要有可能，通向着天堂。但是怜悯总把我带回尘世。痛苦呼喊的回声回荡在我的内心。Spell of the Rising MoonBy Peter Steinhart月光沉睡在这岸边多么轻柔！我们要坐在这里让音乐之声潜入我们的耳内。　　—莎士比亚　　　　 月亮升起来　　　　 彼得·斯坦哈特　　　　我家附近有座小山。晚上，我常爬上山去。此时，城市的喧嚣成了遥远的低语。在这黑夜的静谧中，我可以尽情分享蟋蟀的欢乐，感受猫头鹰的自信。可我上山是来看月出的，因为这可以让我重新得到在城市中失去的宁静与清新。　　在这座山上，我已欣赏过许多次月亮升起的景象。每一次月的脾性都有所不同。秋天，满月如轮，充满自信；春天，月色朦胧，月亮羞羞答答；冬天，银白的月亮挂在漆黑的、悄无声息的夜空中，显得那么孤寂；夏天，橘黄的月似被烟尘笼罩，俯瞰干燥的田野。每一种月景，都像美妙的音乐，震撼我的心灵，令我的灵魂平静。　　观月自古有之。在远古的猎人眼里，月亮如同心跳一样准确无误。他们知道每29天，月亮都要变得明亮饱满，然后萎缩、消失，然后又复活；他们知道，月盈期间，每经一次日落，头顶的月亮就会显得更高远丰满；他们还知道月亏期间，月亮每晚都要迟迟升起，待到日出才隐没。他们竟能从经验

中捕捉到月亮的行踪变化，真可谓心深意广。　　但我们这些人却因深居斗室，与月亮疏于联系。城市炫目的街灯、污浊的烟尘掩盖了夜晚的天空。虽然人类已在月亮上行走过，但月亮对于我们却更加陌生了。有几人能说得出今晚月亮会见时升起？　　但无论怎样，月亮依旧牵动我们的心灵。倘若我们偶尔遇见一轮黄灿灿的硕大的满月高悬中天，都会禁不住停下来凝神瞩望她尊贵的姿容。而月亮也会向注视她的人赐予厚礼。　　我领略到她的馈赠是在山间七月的一个夜晚。我的车突然熄火，将我孤身一人困在山中。太阳已经西沉，我看见东边山头涌出一团橘红色的明光，好像森林起火一般，突然山头自己也似乎迸出火焰，一会儿，大大的月亮涨红着脸，从密林中鬼魅似地钻了出来，夏天空气中弥漫的尘雾与汗气把它变得丑陋不堪。　　大地灼热的呼吸扭曲了它，它变得格外暴躁，不再完美。附近农舍的狗紧张地狂吠起来，似乎这团奇怪的光亮叫醒了野草中的魔鬼。　　然而当月亮缓缓升起，离开山头，它聚集了浑身的坚定与威严；它的面孔也由红变成了橘红，又变成金色，最后是平静的明黄色。它似乎从渐暗的大地中吸走光明，随着它的升起，下面的丘陵山谷愈来愈黯淡朦胧。待到皓月当空，满月如盘，闪烁耀着象牙般乳白的清辉，山谷便成了风景中一片片幽深的阴影。那些狗明白了那团光原是它们熟悉的月亮，也安定下来，停止了吼叫。霎时间，我也觉得信心备增，心情舒畅，近乎笑了起来。　　这奇特的景观持续了一个小时。月出是缓慢的，充满神奇。观看月出，我们得重拾过去那种对时间的耐心。观看月亮不可阻挡地升到空中，能让我们找到内心的安宁，我们的神思能让我们看到宇宙的广漠和大地的宽阔，能让我们忘掉自己。我们感到自身的渺小和大自然的厚待。　　月色下，我们看不到生活坚硬的棱角。月光下山坡如同笼上了柔和的轻纱，一片银白；海水在月光下碧蓝而静谧；我们在月光下也不再像白日那般精于算计，而是沉醉于自然的情感中。　　奇特的事发生了。在那个七月的夜晚，我欣赏了一两个小时的月景后，回到车中，转动钥匙点火，发动机居然响了起来，就像几个小时前熄火那般突然而神秘。我驱车沿着山路回家，肩上披着明月，心灵一片宁静。　　后来我常回到山上观月出，尤其是在接踵而来的事使我身心疲惫、头晕眼花时。这种境况经常发生在秋天，这时我就登上那座小山，守侯猎人的月亮出现，等着那金色巨大的圆月俯照大地，为黑夜带来光明。　　一只猫头鹰自山头俯冲下来，静悄悄

地如一团火焰闪过，一只蟋蟀在草丛长鸣。我想起诗人和音乐家，想起了贝多芬的“月光奏鸣曲”和莎士比亚笔下《威尼斯商人》中洛伦佐的话：“月光沉睡在这岸边多么轻柔！／我们要坐在这里让音乐之声／潜入我们的耳内。”我不知道他们的诗句与乐韵，连同蟋蟀的歌声，是否都可算作月的微语。想到这些，我那被喧嚣的城市扰乱了的心也融化在夜的幽静之中。　　恋人和诗人在夜里能找到生活更深刻的意义。其实我们都爱问一些关于生命的源头和命运的深刻问题，我们不喜欢那些主导着白天世界的刻板的几何教科书，而宁愿沉溺于百思而不得其解的谜团中。在夜里，我们都成了哲人和神秘主义者。　　月出之时，当我们放慢自己的思想，让它跟天国的节奏同步，一种心醉神迷的感觉就会流遍全身。我们会打开情感的窗口，会让白天被理智锁住的那部分思绪尽情奔涌。我们能越过遥远的时空，听见远古猎人的低语，再次看到很久以前的恋人与诗人眼中的世界。There is a hill near my house that I often climb at night. The noise of the city is a far-off murmur. In the hush（安静） of dark I share the cheerfulness of crickets（蟋蟀） and the confidence of owls（猫头鹰）. But it is the drama of the moonrise（月光） that I come to see. For that restores（恢复，归还，重建） in me a quiet and clarity清澈透明） that the city spends too freely.From this hill I have watched many moons rise. Each one had its own mood. There have been broad（广泛的，明朗的）, confident harvest moons in autumn; shy, misty（有薄雾的） moons in spring; lonely, white winter moons rising into the utter silence of an ink-black sky and smoke smudged（污染，熏黑，弄脏的） orange moons over the dry fields of summer. Each, like fine music, excited my heart and then calmed my soul.Moongazing is an ancient art. To prehistoric（史前的） hunters the moon overhead was as unerring（无过失的，正确的）as heart-beat. They knew that every 29 days it became full-bellied（大肚子的） and brilliant, then sickened and died, and then was reborn（再生的，更新的）. They knew the waxing moon（盈月） appeared larger and higher overhead after each succeeding sunset. They knew the waningoon（亏月） rose later each night until it vanished in the sunrise. To have understood the moon's patterns from experience must have been a profound thing.But we, who live indoors, have lost contact with the moon. The glare of street lights and the dust of pollution veil the night sky. Though men have walked on the moon, it grows less familiar. Few of us can say what time the moon will rise tonight.Still, it tugs at our minds. If we unexpectedly encounter the full moon, huge and yellow over the horizon, we are hel

pless but to stare back at its commanding presence. And the moon has gifts to bestow（给与，安放） upon those who watch.I learned about its gifts one July evening in the mountains. My car had mysteriously stalled（停止，迟延）, and I was stranded（搁浅） and alone. The sun had set, and I was watching what seemed to be the bright-orange glow of a forest fire beyond a ridge（山脊） to the east. Suddenly, the ridge itself seemed to burst into flame. Then, the rising moon, huge and red and grotesquely（奇异的，荒诞的） misshapen（畸形的） by the dust and sweat of the summer atmosphere loomed（织布机，隐现） up out of the woods.Distorted（扭歪的） thus by the hot breath of earth, the moon seemed ill-tempered（脾气暴躁的） and imperfect. Dogs at nearby farmhouses barked nervously, as if this strange light had wakened evil spirits in the weeds（丧服）.But as the moon lifted off the ridge it gathered firmness and authority. Its complexion（面色，情况，局面） changed from red, to orange, to gold, to impassive（冷漠的） yellow. It seemed to draw light out of the darkening earth, for as it rose, the hills and valleys below grew dimmer. By the time the moon stood clear of the horizon, full chested and round and the color of ivory（象牙）, the valleys were deep shadows in the landscape. The dogs, reassured that this was the familiar moon, stopped barking. And all at once I felt a confidence and joy close to laughter.The drama took an hour. Moonrise is slow and serried（密集的林立的） with subtleties（微妙，稀薄）. To watch it, we must slip into an older, more patient sense of time. To watch the moon move inexorably（无情地，冷酷的） higher is to find an unusual stillness within ourselves. Our imaginations become aware of the vast distances of space, the immensity（无限，广大，浩瀚） of the earth and the huge improbability of our own existence. We feel small but privileged.Moonlight shows us none of life's harder edges. Hillsides seem silken（柔软光滑的） and silvery, the oceans still and blue in its light. In moonlight we become less calculating, more drawn to our feelings.And odd things happen in such moments. On that July night, I watched the moon for an hour or two, and then got back into the car, turned the key in the ignition（点火，点燃） and heard the engine start, just as mysteriously as it had stalled a few hours earlier I drove down the mountains with the moon on my shoulder and peace in my heart.I return often to the rising moon. I am drawn especially when events crowd ease and clarity of vision into a small corner of my life. This happens often in the fall. Then I go to my hill and await the hunter's moon（猎月）, enormous and gold over the horizon, filling the night with vision.An owl swoops（突然袭击飞扑） from the ridgetop, noiseless but bright as flame. A cric

ket shrills in the grass. I think of poets and musicians. Of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata（奏鸣曲）" and of Shakespeare, whose Lorenzo declaims in The Merchant of Venice, "How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! /Here will we sit and let the sounds of music/ Creep（爬，蔓延） in（悄悄混进） our ears." I wonder if their verse（诗文） and music, like the music of crickets, are in some way voices of the moon. With such thoughts, my citified（都市风的） confusions melt into the quiet of the night.Lovers and poets find deeper meaning at night. We are all apt to pose deeper questions-about our origins and destinies. We indulge 纵容）in（沉湎于）riddles, rather than in the impersonal geometries that govern（支配） the daylit world. We become philosophers and mystics.At moonrise, as we slow our minds to the pace of the heavens, enchantment（迷惑，着迷，魅力） steals over （渐渐弥漫，悄悄呈现）us. We open the vents（出口） of feeling and exercise parts of our minds that reason locks away by day. We hear, across the distances, murmurs of ancient hunters and see anew （重新，再）the visions of poets and lovers of long ago.　　From this hill I have watched many moons rise. Each one had its own mood. There have been broad, confident harvest moons in autumn; shy, misty moons in spring; lonely, white winter moons rising into the utter silence of an ink-black sky and smoke-smudged orange moons over the dry fields of summer. Each, like fine music, excited my heart and then calmed my soul.　　在这座山上，我已欣赏过许多次月亮升起的景象。每一次月的脾性都有所不同。秋天，满月如轮，充满自信；春天，月色朦胧，月亮羞羞答答；冬天，银白的月亮挂在漆黑的、悄无声息的夜空中，显得那么孤寂；夏天，橘黄的月似被烟尘笼罩，俯瞰干燥的田野。每一种月景，都像美妙的音乐，震撼我的心灵，令我的灵魂平静。　　Moonlight shows us none of life’s harder edges. Hillsides seem silken and silvery, the oceans still and blue in its light. In moonlight we become less calculating, more drawn to our feelings.　　月色下，我们看不到生活坚硬的棱角。山坡月光下如同笼上了柔和的轻纱，一片银白；海水在月光下碧蓝而静谧；我们在月光下也不再像白日那般精于算计，而是沉醉于自然的情感中。　　At moonrise, as we slow our minds to the pace of the heavens, enchantment steals over us. We open the vents of feeling and exercise parts of our minds that reason locks away by day. We hear, across the distances, murmurs of ancient hunters and see anew the visions of poets and lovers of long ago.　　月出之时，当我们放慢自己的思想，让它跟随天国的脚步，一种心醉神迷的感觉就会流遍全身。我们会打开情感的窗口，会让白天被理智锁住的那部分思绪

尽情奔涌。我们能越过遥远的时空，听见远古猎人的低语，再次看到很久以前的恋人与诗人眼中的世界。　　　　Part 2 Beautiful Nature　　　　第二部分 自然美景　　　　徜徉在大自然中，感受她的存在、探索她的神秘，热爱她赋予的一切。放松白天紧张的神经，远离大都市的喧嚣与烦躁，让思绪与无垠的宇宙、美丽的大自然融为一体。　　春天是播种的季节，夏天是忙碌的季节，秋天是收获的季节，冬天是安息的季节。四个性格迥然不同的季节，带给我们万分感叹，也带给我们生活的喜悦。而天地中的风声雨声雷鸣闪电，仿如大自然的妙手奏起最曼妙的乐章，带给我们无尽的美感。You will never enjoy the world aright, till the sea itself floweth in you vein, till you are clothed with the heavens, and crowned with the stars.— Thomas Ttaherne, British poet5 Glories of the StormBy Nancy M. Peterson直到以苍穹作衣，以星晨作冠，血脉里流淌着海水，人们才能真正享受世界的美。　　—英国诗人汤姆斯·特拉赫恩　　　　壮丽的暴风雨　　　　南希·M·彼得森　　　　起初，有一种万籁俱寂的感觉袭上心头，我感到万物突然静了下来，鸟儿不再啁啾，树叶不再沙沙作响，昆虫也不再鸣唱。　　燥热了一天的空气陡然凝重起来，沉甸甸地挂在树梢上，压垂了花朵，也压在我的肩头上。我隐约感到有些不安，便走到窗前。在西边天际，云朵层层叠叠，筑成一座座嵯峨的白塔，高耸在蓝天之上。　　云朵那炫目的白光转瞬间消失了。棉花糖似的云团很快变得像铁砧一般平展。云露出了它们阴暗的面目，挡住了西斜的太阳，天早早暗了下来。紧接着，狂风骤起，一路抽打起地上的尘土，冷飕飕地警示着即将到来的一切。　　“砰”地一声，一扇房门关上了，窗帘也随风鼓起，在房间里翻卷着。我急忙跑过去关上窗户，收起晾晒的衣服，安顿好露台上的家什。这时，远处响起了隆隆的雷声。　　雨开始大滴大滴落下来，噼里啪啦摔进尘土里，在窗户上洒下点点印记。雨点叮叮当当敲打着烟囱，乒乒乓乓撞击在露台顶棚。树叶让雨点砸得瑟瑟发抖，抬不起头来，人行道则披上了闪闪发亮的外衣。　　雨加快了节奏，叮当声、乒乓声，一阵紧似一阵，最后连成一片绵密的鼓点，点点雨滴也汇成千军万马，扑向田野、屋顶。这时，第一道闪电刺向大地，这是天国的惊叹号。暴风雨来了！　　紧接着一个霹雳，我不禁跳了起来。这一声雷震得窗玻璃格格作响，吓得小狗不停地在地上抓，直往

床底下钻。第二道闪电更近了，我吓得寒毛倒竖，不由得从窗口后退了一步。　　这时雨如洪水一般，倾盆而泻，渐紧的狂风把雨挥来扫去。风和雨交织在一起，肆意抽打着树木，压伏着小草。雨水漫出排水槽，从屋檐奔流而下，不停地泼洒在窗户上，完全挡住了我的视线。眼前只有水。真不知道，这么多雨水，怎么会落得这么急？云是怎么撑起这巨大重量的？而大地又如何承受得起？　　我在屋里踱来踱去，从一个窗口走到另一个窗口。窗外的情景叫我不禁张大嘴巴，惊叹不已。瞧，紫丁香在暴雨袭击下折弯了腰，百合花也倒伏在地上，山坡的石阶小道则变成了一帘崭新的瀑布！此时，屋顶上响起了乒乓砰砰的声音，下冰雹了。这些银色的小球在草地上纷乱地跳着，又落到水洼里，溅起许多水花。我开始担心蔬菜园、果树和地里的庄稼；不过，谢天谢地，这冰雹还不够大，也不算多，还不会造成什么损害，至少这次不会的。　　暴风雨快要过去了，紧张的空气缓和下来，雨幕也透进更多亮光。暴风雨已耗去了大部分精力，还有一点余威它拿到东边的乡间去施展了。　　雨还在下着，我却已忍不住来到屋外。四周一片清凉宜人的气息。我深深呼吸着新鲜的空气，抬眼看一道道阳光穿过裂开的云团。有束阳光正好射在屋檐的水珠上，上天便赐予了我一条细细的、微微颤动的七色彩带—这是一道属于我自己的彩虹。　　我小心翼翼地穿过湿漉漉的草地，双脚不时陷进雨水浸透的泥土。河谷的小溪满载浑浊的泥水奔流而去，而那些小水洼却早已渗入地下，不见了踪影。每片树叶和草叶，每块砖头和瓦片都冲洗得干干净净，闪闪发光。　　我也像大地一样，焕然一新，我的灵魂净化了，我的心情变得无比平静。一时间，我全然忘却了曾积郁于心的一切忧愁与恼恨，它们都已被这辉煌壮丽的暴风雨冲刷得无影无踪。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 piled 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 h

ouse a door shuts with a bang, curtains billow into the room. I rush to close the windows, empty the clothesline, secure the patio furnishings. Thunder begins to grumble in the distance.The first drops of rain are huge. They splat into the dust and imprint the windows with individual signatures. They plink on the vent pipe and plunk on 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 lightning 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.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 can the earth endure beneath it?Pacing through the house from window to window, I am moved to open-mouthed 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 a 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 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.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.　　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.　　燥热了一天的空气陡然沉重起来，沉甸甸地挂在树梢，压垂了花朵，也压在我的肩头上。　　The first drops of rain are huge. They splat into the dust and imprint the windows with individual signatures. They plink on the vent pipe and plunk on patio roof. Leaves shudder under their weight before rebounding, and the sidewalk wears a coat of shiny spots.　　雨开始大滴大滴落下来，噼里啪啦掉进尘土里，在窗户上洒下点点印记。雨点叮叮当当敲打着烟囱，乒乒乓乓撞击在露台顶棚。树叶让雨点砸得瑟瑟发抖，抬不起头来，人行道则披上了闪闪发亮的外衣。　　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.　　这时雨如洪水一般，倾盆而泻，渐紧的狂风把雨挥来扫去。风和雨交织在一起，肆意抽打着树木，压伏了小草。雨水漫出排水槽，从屋顶奔流而下，不停地泼洒在窗户上，完全挡住了我的视线。　　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.　　我也像这大地一样，焕然一新，我的灵魂净化了，我的心情变得无比平静。一时间，我全然忘却了曾积郁于心的一切忧愁与恼恨，它们都已被这辉煌壮丽的暴风雨冲刷得无影无踪。　　mammoth　　adj. 巨大的，庞大的　　　　piercing　　adj. 敏锐的；尖利的；刺耳的　　　　marshmallow　　n. 果浆软糖　　　　anvil　　n. （铁）砧　　　　patio　　n. 庭院；天井；院子　　　　splat　　v. 发出溅泼声　　　　plink　　v. 随意投掷；乱射　　　　exclamation　　n. 惊叹，惊喊　　　　lilac　　n. 丁香花；丁香　　　　saturated　　adj. 　　饱和的　　　　shingle　　n. 木瓦；海滨沙砾With every visit to the vineyard, I was always over-awed by the way the grapevines grew and trailed off into the horizon.每次来到葡萄园，面对这浩瀚绵延直至天际的葡萄藤，我总是感到由衷地敬畏。　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　甜蜜的回忆　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 德比·萨基特　　　　驾车驶过丰收的葡萄园，多年前在美国马萨诸塞州康科得葡萄园一季季地采摘熟透的葡萄的情形又浮现在眼前。很快我就可以再次徜徉在园子里，摘采品尝我最喜爱的水果

了。葡萄的美味牵着我的思绪飘回童年，那个清凉的秋日午后第一次摘葡萄的情景。　　我和祖母从一辆又旧又锈的绿色采摘车上下来，去取装葡萄的篮子。那是一种很大的篮子，非常结实，可以看得出，它们已经历了很多个收获季节：木条编制，表面光滑，已被康科得前些年的葡萄染成了紫黑色。粗糙的木篮子松松地悬在金属提手下。祖母会马上拂去篮中的蜘蛛和蜘蛛网。因为在去年残留的几片干葡萄叶下，或是黑黑的篮中，蜘蛛们会暂时结网为家。篮子准备好了，我们走向那一眼望不到尽头的葡萄园。　　每次来到葡萄园，面对这浩瀚绵延直至天际的葡萄藤，我总是感到由衷地敬畏。无论朝哪个方向，身旁都有一排排的葡萄环绕。在晨光的照耀下，每一颗小巧圆润的葡萄上都有晨露闪烁，一串串的，就像灯下闪耀的璀璨钻石。　　我们走向园子深处，听到小鸟轻快的唧唧喳喳的鸣唱，大概他们是在提醒同伴我们的闯入吧。奶奶向前继续走了几英尺，我驻足观望，见她伸手去摘熟了的葡萄，葡萄上闪耀露水的清凉似乎告诉她我们该从这里开始。　　我们跪在地上，把篮子放在身旁，鸟儿们开始发出不一样的鸣叫，音调高昂，似乎表示已经接受并允许我们进入他们的领地。清晨的微风轻拂面庞，树叶沙沙作响，葡萄成熟的清香随风飘送。真想永远呼吸着这样的甜香，每一寸感官都浸透着葡萄的美味，我沉醉在这样的境界里，浑然忘我。　　几乎是下意识的，我小心地伸向一串葡萄，摘下其中一颗。就像欣赏一件完美的艺术品般在手中把玩着，葡萄的表面清凉柔软，色彩碧蓝，还能感觉到连接着葡萄串的开口处溢出一点汁液，甜香四溢。　　我慢慢把葡萄移向嘴边，准备品尝，似乎嘴里已经充满了玉液琼浆。我飞快地把这颗葡萄放在嘴边一挤，汁水和果肉脱离光润的果皮滑进我的口中。葡萄比我期待的还要香甜，我享受着嘴里的嫩滑甜润，细细咀嚼，慢慢吞咽。然后我开始吮吸留在手中的葡萄皮，几个月里，它孕育着果肉，我琢磨着这皮怎样承载着葡萄，这上帝的精巧杰作，怎样包容它一天天成熟，直到变得这般美妙。葡萄皮带着独特的余味，成为我品尝享受的最后一部分。　　还有什么能超越这样的享受呢？品尝之后，我开始摘采这自然的精华。一串串葡萄圆润厚重，又是如此精巧易碎，需要细心呵护。我小心地叠起一串串葡萄，还不时抽空品尝一颗颗甘露琼浆。　　我知道这滋味很快会成为另一个回忆，我期盼不会错过下次丰收。A Small and Sweet MemoryBy Deb Sackett

It had been a long year for me, and the drive past the maturing vineyard, brought back memories of the many previous seasons that we had worked, to harvest the ripe Concord grapes. Knowing that soon I would be able to indulge in the picking, and yet more tantalizing task of tasting, a small portion of my favorite type of fruit. The memory of the taste itself brought back thoughts of my childhood, on a cool, fall afternoon, when I had first picked grapes.As my grandma and I stepped out of the old, rusty, green pick-up, we reached for the stiff, bushel baskets that showed the age of many harvests. Soft, woven wood, stained in black-purple, from the many bunches of Concord grapes they had held in previous years. Sections of rough splintered wood hung loosely from the wire handles. Grandma would not hesitate to reach into the old baskets to remove any spiders, or webs that might have been a temporary home in the dark interior: perhaps under some dried grape leaves left over from last years crop. Now that the baskets were ready, we headed towards the seemingly endless rows of grapes.With every visit to the vineyard, I was always over-awed by the way the grapevines grew and trailed off into the horizon. In every direction around me, there were rows upon rows of grapes, twinkling, as the morning sun glimmered its glow off the moist dew, still balancing on each tiny, round grape. It was as if the bunches of grapes were diamonds sparkling in the light.As we continued to walk, further into the vineyard, I could hear the birds chirping their soft sounds, as they warned each other that we were approaching, "chi chi cee coo". I paused for a moment as my grandma continued ahead of me by a few feet. I watched her as she reached out to touch the ripening grapes, as if the coolness from the shimmering dew would let her know a that this is where we were to begin.We knelt on the ground and laid our bushel baskets down at our sides as the birds began a different message, "coo coo chee" in a much louder pitch, quite different from their first sounds. It was as if they were now accepting us and allowing us into their area. You could hear the rustling of the leaves, as the cool morning breeze swept past our faces. As it slowly whisked around us, it brought the fresh smell of the ripening Concord grapes. You would want to inhale forever, as the sweetly delicious smell would penetrate your senses. It allowed me to be lost in thought, as I enjoyed my surroundings.Almost by instinct I reached out delicately and removed one single grape from its bunch of many. Looking at this grape as if it were a perfect piece of art, I turned it around in my fingers, from side to side. The skin was cool and soft, more blue in color than black. I could smell and feel the juice dripping from the opened top, from where it had been attached to the bunch.Slowly I brought the single grape closer to my mouth, ready to enjoy the pleasure that I was about t

o experience. In anticipation, I could feel my mouth filling with moisture. I brought the grape to the edge of my mouth and quickly squeezed the grape, so that the juicy, middle portion popped out of the smooth skin and into my mouth. The grape was even sweeter than I had hoped for and I enjoyed the texture of the smooth, meaty wetness inside my mouth. As my mouth enjoyed the motion of chewing this fruit, slowly swallowing it down my throat, I took the remaining skin of the grape, still positioned in my fingers, and started to nibble on the tough, outer skin that had held the fruit, for so many months. I thought about how the skin had held this wonderfully small piece of God's creation, allowing it to mature into the pleasure that I had just experienced. The skin contained a subtle after taste of the main fruit itself, yet I enjoyed it as I continued to chew and swallow the last remains of the single grape.After what seemed like an eternity of pleasure, I began to fill my basket with the wonders of nature. The bunches of grapes were plump and heavy to the touch, yet as delicate as small vulnerable creatures in your trusting care. I carefully piled them one on top of another, taking a moment, here and there, to taste another of these perfect fruits.I knew that the taste would soon be another memory and I hoped that I would be available for the next harvest season.　　　As my grandma and I stepped out of the old, rusty, green pick-up, we reached for the stiff, bushel baskets that showed the age of many harvests. Soft, woven wood, stained in black-purple, from the many bunches of Concord grapes they had held in previous years.　　我和祖母从一辆又旧又锈的绿色采摘车上下来，去取装葡萄的篮子。那是一种很大的篮子，非常结实，可以看得出，它们已经历了很多个收获季节：木条编制，表面光滑，已被康科得前些年的葡萄染成了紫黑色。　　With every visit to the vineyard, I was always overawed by the way the grapevines grew and trailed off into the horizon.　　每次来到葡萄园，面对这浩瀚绵延直至天际的葡萄藤，我总是感到由衷地敬畏。　　You would want to inhale forever, as the sweetly delicious smell would penetrate your senses. It allowed me to be lost in thought, as I enjoyed my surroundings.　　真想永远呼吸着这样的甜香，每一寸感官都浸透着葡萄的美味，我沉醉在这样的境界里，浑然忘我。　　I thought about how the skin had held this wonderfully small piece of God’s creation, allowing it to mature into the pleasure that I had just experienced.　　我琢磨着这皮怎样承载着葡萄，这奇妙的上帝的杰作，怎样包容它一天天成熟，直到变得这般美妙。In the serene certainty of spring recurring, who can fear the distant fall?　　cricket　　n. 蟋蟀　　　　owl　　n. 猫头鹰　　　　smudge　　v. 使

模糊；用浓烟薰　　　　unerring　　adj. 没有偏差的，准确的；没有过错的　　　　waxing　　n. 上蜡，涂蜡　　　　tug　　v. 挣扎　　　　stall　　v. 使停顿；使停止；阻塞　　　　misshape　　v. 使成畸形；使成奇形怪状　　　　complexion　　n. 肤色　　　　subtlety　　n. 细微；细致　　　　ignition　　n. 点火；发火　　　　citified　　adj. 城市的，城市派头的Spring the Resurrection TimeBy James J. KilpatrickSprings are not always the same. In some years, April bursts upon our Virginia hills in one prodigious leap-and all the stage in filled at once, whole choruses of tulips, arabesques of forsythia, cadenzas of flowering plum. The trees grow leaves overnight.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.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.The dark Blue Ridge Mountains in which I dwell, great-hipped, big-breasted, slumber on the western sky. And then they stretch and gradually awaken. A warm wind, soft as a girl's hair, moves sailboat clouds in gentle skies. The rains come-good rains to sleep by-and fields that were dun as oatmeal turn to pale green, then to kelly green.All this reminds me of a theme that runs through my head like a line of music. Its message is profoundly simple, and profoundly mysterious also; Life goes on. That is all there is to it. Everything that is, was; and everything that is, will be.I am a newspaperman, not a preacher. I am embarrassed to write of "God's presence." God is off my beat. But one afternoon I was walking across the yard and stopped to pick up an acorn-one acorn, nut brown, glossy, cool to the touch; the crested top was milled and knurled like the knob on a safe. There was nothing unique about it. Thousands littered the grass.I could not tell you what Saul of Tarsus encountered on that famous road to Damascus when the light shone suddenly around him, but I know what he left. He was trembling, and filled with astonishment, and so was I that afternoon. The great chestnut oak that towered above me had sprung from such an insignificant thing as this; and the oak contained within itself the generating power to seed whole forests. All was locked in this tiny, ingenious safe-the mystery, the glory, the grand desig

n.The overwhelming moment passed, but it returns. Once in February we were down on the hillside pulling up briars and honeysuckle roots. I dug with my hands through rotted leaves and crumbling moldy bark. And behold: at the bottom of the dead, decaying mass a wild rhizome was raising a green, impertinent shaft toward the unseen sun. I am not saying I found Divine Revelation. What I found, I think, was a wild iris.The iris was doing something more than surviving. It was growing, exactly according to plan, responding to rhythms and forces that were old before man was young. And it was drawing its life from the dead leaves of long-gone winters. I covered this unquenchable rhizome, patted it with a spade, and told it to be patient: spring would come.And that is part of this same, unremarkable theme: spring does come. In the garden the rue anemones come marching out, bright as toy soldiers on their parapets of stone. The dogwoods float in casual clouds among the hills.This is the Resurrection time. That which was dead, or so it seemed, has come to life again-the stiff branch, supple; the brown earth, green. This is the miracle: There is no death; there is, in truth, eternal life....These are lofty themes for a newspaperman. I cover politics, not ontology. But it is not required that one be learned in metaphysics to contemplate a pea patch. A rudimentary mastery of a shovel will suffice. So, in the spring, we plunge shovels into the garden plot, turn under the dark compost, rake fine the crumbling clods, and press the inert seeds into orderly rows. These are the commonest routines. Who could find excitement here?But look! The rain falls, and the sun warms, and something happens. It is the germination process. Germ of what? Germ of life, germ inexplicable, germ of wonder. The dry seed ruptures and the green leaf uncurls. Here is a message that transcends the rites of any church or creed or organized religion. I would challenge any doubting Thomas in my pea patch.A year or so ago, succumbing to the lures of a garden catalogue, we went grandly into heather. Over the winter it looked as though the grand investment had become a grand disaster. Nothing in the garden seemed deader than the heather. But now the tips are emerald, and the plants are coronets for fairy queens.Everywhere, spring brings the blessed reassurance that life goes on, that death is no more than a passing season. The plan never falters; the design never changes.Look to the rue anemone, if you will, or to the pea patch, or to the 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 serene certainty of spring recurring, who can fear the distant fall?The earth warms — you can smell it, feel it, crumble April in your hands.　　大地也暖和起来了—你可以闻到四月的气息，感觉到它那股馨香，把它捧在手中赏玩。

　　A warm wind, soft as a girl’s hair, moves sailboat clouds in gentle skies. The rains come — good rains to sleep by — and fields that were dun as oatmeal turn to pale green, then to kelly green.　　温暖的清风如姑娘的长发一般柔和，吹动着平静的天空中帆船似的白云。细雨飘了下来—好雨伴美梦—而田野却在这细雨中由燕麦粉般的灰褐色变成了浅绿色，而后又转为黄绿。　　This is the Resurrection time. That which was dead, or so it seemed, has come to life again — the stiff branch, supple; the brown earth, green. This is the miracle: There is no death; there is in truth eternal life.　　这是复活的季节。那些死去的，或看起来好像死去的，又重新获得了生命—僵直的枝条柔软起来；枯黄的大地绿意融融。这正体现了一个奇迹：世上没有死亡，只有永恒的生命。　　The rain falls, and the sun warms, and something happens. It is the germination process. Germ of what? Germ of life, germ inexplicable, germ of wonder. The dry seed ruptures and the green leaf uncurls.　　下雨了，太阳暖了，田里也钻出了些什么。那是发芽了！那是怎样的芽啊？是生命的芽，是无以名状的芽，是奇迹的芽。干枯的种子裂开，嫩绿的叶子舒展开来。　　Everywhere, spring brings the blessed reassurance that life goes on, that death is no more than a passing season. The plan never falters; the design never changes.　　春在每个角落传递着慰勉的福音，告诉人们生命在继续，死亡不过是短暂的片刻。生命的程序永远不会停滞，生命的构设永远不会改变。While rivers are heavy with sophistication and sediment, creeks are clear, innocent, boisterous, full of dream and promise.　　大江大河满是诡秘和积淀，显得那样沉重，而小溪却是澄澈、纯真、活泼的，充满梦想和希望。　　Creeks don’t get named for Civil War generals or Indian chiefs. They take their names from whatever’s handy: Rock Creek, Mill Creek or Mud Creek. They don’t get celebrated in travel literature or national anthems. Creeks are the trivial parts of our landscape, what scoundrels and rusting shopping carts are thrown into.　　小溪从不以内战时的将军或印第安酋长的名字命名，它们的名字都是信手拈来的：石溪、磨坊溪抑或土溪。小溪也不是游记或国歌赞美的对象，它们只是风景中微不足道的一个角落，是丢弃垃圾和废旧购物车的地方。　　Nothing historic ever happens in these recollected creeks. But their persistence in memory suggests that creeks are bigger than they seem, more a part of our hearts and minds than mighty rivers.　　在这些记忆中的小溪里从未发生过什么惊天动地的大事，然而这些小溪却长久地留在脑海深处，它们远比看上去的更宽广，远比汹涌澎湃的江河更是

我们心灵的一部分。　　Creeks lead one on, like perfume on the wind. A creek is something that disappears around a bend, into the ground, into the next dimension. To follow a creek is to seek new acquaintance with life.　　小溪就似那迎风飘来的芳香，能领着我们前进。它们会在弯处消失，钻进土里，钻进另一处空间。所以追随小溪就是寻觅生活新的经验。　　scoundrel　　n. 坏蛋，流氓，恶棍，废物　　　　rust　　v． 生锈；氧化　　　　minnow　　n． 鲤科小鱼　　　　slink　　v． 鬼鬼祟祟地走；溜走　　　　sediment　　n． 沉积；沉淀　　　　boisterous　　adj. 吵吵嚷嚷的；兴高采烈的　　　　crayfish　　n． 小龙虾　　　　tadpole　　n. 蝌蚪　　　　glacial　　adj. 冰河的；冰的　　　　alpine　　n． 高山的In the serene certainty of spring recurring, who can fear the distant fall?Spring the Resurrection TimeBy James J. KilpatrickSprings are not always the same. In some years, April bursts upon our Virginia hills in one prodigious leap-and all the stage in filled at once, whole choruses of tulips, arabesques of forsythia, cadenzas of flowering plum. The trees grow leaves overnight.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.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.The dark Blue Ridge Mountains in which I dwell, great-hipped, big-breasted, slumber on the western sky. And then they stretch and gradually awaken. A warm wind, soft as a girl's hair, moves sailboat clouds in gentle skies. The rains come-good rains to sleep by-and fields that were dun as oatmeal turn to pale green, then to kelly green.All this reminds me of a theme that runs through my head like a line of music. Its message is profoundly simple, and profoundly mysterious also; Life goes on. That is all there is to it. Everything that is, was; and everything that is, will be.I am a newspaperman, not a preacher. I am embarrassed to write of "God's presence." God is off my beat. But one afternoon I was walking across the yard and stopped to pick up an acorn-one acorn, nut brown, glossy, cool to the touch; the crested top was milled and knurled like the knob on a safe. There was nothing unique about it. Thousands littered the grass.

I could not tell you what Saul of Tarsus encountered on that famous road to Damascus when the light shone suddenly around him, but I know what he left. He was trembling, and filled with astonishment, and so was I that afternoon. The great chestnut oak that towered above me had sprung from such an insignificant thing as this; and the oak contained within itself the generating power to seed whole forests. All was locked in this tiny, ingenious safe-the mystery, the glory, the grand design.The overwhelming moment passed, but it returns. Once in February we were down on the hillside pulling up briars and honeysuckle roots. I dug with my hands through rotted leaves and crumbling moldy bark. And behold: at the bottom of the dead, decaying mass a wild rhizome was raising a green, impertinent shaft toward the unseen sun. I am not saying I found Divine Revelation. What I found, I think, was a wild iris.The iris was doing something more than surviving. It was growing, exactly according to plan, responding to rhythms and forces that were old before man was young. And it was drawing its life from the dead leaves of long-gone winters. I covered this unquenchable rhizome, patted it with a spade, and told it to be patient: spring would come.And that is part of this same, unremarkable theme: spring does come. In the garden the rue anemones come marching out, bright as toy soldiers on their parapets of stone. The dogwoods float in casual clouds among the hills.This is the Resurrection time. That which was dead, or so it seemed, has come to life again-the stiff branch, supple; the brown earth, green. This is the miracle: There is no death; there is, in truth, eternal life....These are lofty themes for a newspaperman. I cover politics, not ontology. But it is not required that one be learned in metaphysics to contemplate a pea patch. A rudimentary mastery of a shovel will suffice. So, in the spring, we plunge shovels into the garden plot, turn under the dark compost, rake fine the crumbling clods, and press the inert seeds into orderly rows. These are the commonest routines. Who could find excitement here?But look! The rain falls, and the sun warms, and something happens. It is the germination process. Germ of what? Germ of life, germ inexplicable, germ of wonder. The dry seed ruptures and the green leaf uncurls. Here is a message that transcends the rites of any church or creed or organized religion. I would challenge any doubting Thomas in my pea patch.A year or so ago, succumbing to the lures of a garden catalogue, we went grandly into heather. Over the winter it looked as though the grand investment had become a grand disaster. Nothing in the garden seemed deader than the heather. But now the tips are emerald, and the plants are coronets for fairy queens.Everywhere, spring brings the blessed reassurance that life goes on, that death is no more than a passing season. The plan never falters; the design nev

er changes.Look to the rue anemone, if you will, or to the pea patch, or to the 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 serene certainty of spring recurring, who can fear the distant fall?　　当我们发现，春已切切实实地回来了，在恬静之中，谁还会害怕遥远的秋天呢？春，复活的季节　　 詹姆斯·J·基尔帕特里克　　　　 春不总是千篇一律的。有时候，四月一个健步就跃上了我们弗吉尼亚的小山丘。顿时，整个舞台活跃起来；郁金香们引吭高歌，连翘花翩翩起舞，梅花表演起了独奏，树木也在一夜之间披上新绿。　　有时候，春又悄然而入，羞涩腼腆，欲前又止，就像我的小孙女，倚在门边，偷偷往里瞅，又一下子跑开了，不见踪影，只听见她在门厅咯咯地笑。我喊了一声：“我知道你在那里，进来吧！”于是四月便倏地一下飞进我们怀中。　　山茱萸的花骨朵儿嫩绿嫩绿的，镶着赤褐色的花边。在那漂亮的花萼里，竟稳稳地簇拥着几十颗小种子，我们不禁要惊羡地问一句：一个月前这些种子还在哪儿呢？苹果树则像卖帽人，向人们展示他帽子上那一片片带点玫瑰红的乳白色丝缎。所有熟睡的都醒了—樱草花、蝴蝶花、草夹竹桃。大地也暖和起来了—你可以闻到四月的气息，感觉到它那股馨香、把它捧在手中赏玩。　　我所居住的漆黑的蓝岭山脉像丰满美丽的少妇，沉睡在西边的天空。这会儿，她们伸伸懒腰，渐渐苏醒了。温暖的清风如姑娘的长发一般柔和，吹动着平静的天空中帆船似的白云。细雨飘了下来—好雨伴美梦—而田野却在这细雨中由燕麦粉般的灰褐色变成了浅绿色，而后又转为黄绿。　　所有这一切都向我暗示着一个主题，就像一行弦乐拂过我的脑际。这主题极简单，又极神奇，那就是：生命在继续。所有现在的一切，过去也如此；所有现在的一切，将来仍如此。　　我是新闻记者，不是传教士。若去赞颂“上帝无所不在”，我觉得有些牵强，写上帝不是我的本行。可有天下午，我穿过后院，偶然停下来拾起一粒橡子—那是一粒赤褐色的橡子，光洁圆润，触之清凉；圆圆的冠顶如同经过琢磨，就像保险柜的圆把手。这粒橡子并没什么特别，有成千上万粒这样的橡子散铺在草地上。　　我不知道当塔尔苏斯的索尔走在通往大马士革的那条著名的小道上，突然被光芒笼罩时，遇见了什么，但我知道他当时的感受—他一定是惊鄂不已，浑身颤栗。那天下午我就是这种感觉。那棵在我面前挺拔入云的高大橡树竟是从

这么一粒毫不起眼的小东西生长而成　　的；而橡树本身又蕴涵着足以在森林每个角落繁衍生命的力量。这所有的神奇、恢弘和伟大的设计竟都锁在这个小小的、精巧的保险柜中。　　那个触人心弦的时刻去而复返。有年二月，我们在南面山坡上拔欧石南和金银花根，我用双手扒开腐臭的树叶和发霉破碎的树皮，忽然发现在那堆枯枝烂叶底下，一株野生的根茎上竟发出一道绿光，倔强地朝着被遮蔽的冬日伸展。我不是说我看到了上帝的神迹，我想我发现的是一株野蝴蝶花。　　这株蝴蝶花可不仅仅只是活了下来，它在生长，完全遵循着应有的程序生长，应和着那在人类还很年轻时就已很古老的节奏和力量。而且它的生命还是从早已远去的冬季留下的枯叶里滋生出来的。这根茎的生命是不可扼杀的，我掩上土，用铲子拍拍它，告诉它要耐心等待：春天会来的。　　其实，它揭示了那个同样的寻常主题：春确实来了。花园里，紫红的白头翁花争相竞放，鲜艳夺目，像一群群玩具士兵站在石筑的护墙上；山茱萸则像朵朵彩云，缭绕山际。　　这是复活的季节。那些死去的，或看起来好像死去的，又重新获得了生命—僵直的枝条柔软起来；枯黄的大地绿意融融。这就是奇迹：世上没有死亡，只有永恒的生命。　　……　　谈这些主题对新闻记者而言似乎太高深了，我报导的应是政治，而不是本体论。但并不是非得精通玄学才能去对着一片豌豆畦沉思，只要基本上懂得如何使用铁揪即已足够。不妨试试，在春日里，用铁揪翻动菜畦，翻搅黑色的肥料，把耙子把平干裂的泥团，把沉睡的种子一排排齐齐整整地埋在土里。这些都是再普通不过的日常工作，谁会从中感到兴奋呢？　　但是，看！下雨了，太阳暖了，奇迹也发生了！种子发芽了！那是怎样的芽啊？是生命的芽，是无以名状的芽，是奇迹的芽。干枯的种子裂开，嫩绿的叶子舒展开来。这其中传达的寓义胜过任何一座教堂、任何一套教义、任何一种组织严密的宗教所传授的训导。任何人如果对此有什么怀疑，我愿在我的豌豆畦里与他明辨一番。　　大约一年前，我们读到一本花草目录，深深着迷，不由兴致勃勃买来一些石南。整个冬天，我们以不菲价格买来的石南犹如遭受重创，园子里再也找不到比它更了无生气的植物了，可如今，石南的枝头翡翠一样的绿，一株株石南宛若仙子的花冠。　　春在每个角落传递着慰勉的福音，告诉人们生命在继续，死亡不过是短暂的片刻。生命的程序永远不会停滞，生命的构设永远不会改变。　　去看看白头翁花吧，如果你愿意；或去看

看豌豆畦，或去看看那倔强地将手臂伸过城市街道的顽强野草。从前是这样，现在是这样，将来还会是这样，这就是生生不息的世界。当我们发现，春已切切实实地回来了，在恬静之中，谁还会害怕遥远的秋天呢？　　prodigious　　adj. 巨大的；庞大的；惊人的　　　　arabesque　　n. 阿拉伯式图案；花叶饰　　　　forsythia　　n. [植] 连翘　　　　cadenza　　n. 休止之前歌声的婉转　　　　duck　　v. 闪避；逃避　　　　dogwood　　n. 山茱萸　　　　russet　　n. 黄褐色；赤褐色　　　　acorn　　n. [植] 橡树子　　　　crested　　adj. 有饰顶的；有冠毛的　　　　briar　　n. [植] 欧石南　　　　honeysuckle　　n. [植] 忍冬属　　　　rhizome　　n. [植] 根茎，根状茎　　　　impertinent　　adj. 不恰当的，不适合　　　　succumb　　v. 屈服；受惑　　The earth warms — you can smell it, feel it, crumble April in your hands.　　大地也暖和起来了—你可以闻到四月的气息，感觉到它那股馨香，把它捧在手中赏玩。　　A warm wind, soft as a girl’s hair, moves sailboat clouds in gentle skies. The rains come — good rains to sleep by — and fields that were dun as oatmeal turn to pale green, then to kelly green.　　温暖的清风如姑娘的长发一般柔和，吹动着平静的天空中帆船似的白云。细雨飘了下来—好雨伴美梦—而田野却在这细雨中由燕麦粉般的灰褐色变成了浅绿色，而后又转为黄绿。　　This is the Resurrection time. That which was dead, or so it seemed, has come to life again — the stiff branch, supple; the brown earth, green. This is the miracle: There is no death; there is in truth eternal life.　　这是复活的季节。那些死去的，或看起来好像死去的，又重新获得了生命—僵直的枝条柔软起来；枯黄的大地绿意融融。这正体现了一个奇迹：世上没有死亡，只有永恒的生命。　　The rain falls, and the sun warms, and something happens. It is the germination process. Germ of what? Germ of life, germ inexplicable, germ of wonder. The dry seed ruptures and the green leaf uncurls.　　下雨了，太阳暖了，田里也钻出了些什么。那是发芽了！那是怎样的芽啊？是生命的芽，是无以名状的芽，是奇迹的芽。干枯的种子裂开，嫩绿的叶子舒展开来。　　Everywhere, spring brings the blessed reassurance that life goes on, that death is no more than a passing season. The plan never falters; the design never changes.　　春在每个角落传递着慰勉的福音，告诉人们生命在继续，死亡不过是短暂的片刻。生命的程序永远不会停滞，生命的构设永远不会改变。If the constellati

ons appeared only once in a thousand years, he observed in Nature, imagine what an exciting event at would be. But because they're up there every night, we barely give them a look.Have You Seen the Tree?By Robert S. KyffMy neighbor Mrs. Gargan first told me about it. "Have you seen the tree?" she asked as I was sitting in the back yard enjoying the October twilight."The one down at the corner," she explained. "It's a beautiful tree-all kinds of colors. Cars are stopping to look. You ought to see it."I told her I would, but I soon forgot about the tree. Three days later, I was jogging down the street, my mind swimming with petty worries, when a splash of bright orange caught my eye. For an instant, I thought someone's house had caught fire. Then I remembered the tree.As I approaches it, I slowed to a walk. There was nothing remarkable about the shape of the tree, a medium-sized maple. But Mrs. Gargan had been right about its colors. Like the messy whirl of an artist's palette, the tree blazed a bright crimson on its lower branches, burned with vivid yellows and oranges in its center, and simmered to deep burgundy at its top. Through these fiery colors cascaded thin rivulets of pale-green leaves and blotches of deep-green leaves, as yet untouched by autumn.Edging closer-like a pilgrim approaching a shrine-I noticed several bare branches near the top, their black twigs scratching the air like claws. The leaves they had shed lay like a scarlet carpet around the trunk.With its varied nations of color, this tree seemed to become a globe, embracing in its broad branches all seasons and continents: the spring and summer of the Southern Hemisphere in the light and dark greens, the autumn and winter of the Northern in the blazing yellows and bare branches. The whole planet seemed poised on the pivot of this pastiche.As I marveled at this all-encompassing beauty, I thought of Ralph Waldo Emerson's comments about the stars. If the constellations appeared only once in a thousand years, he observed in Nature, imagine what an exciting event it would be. But because they're up there every night, we barely give them a look.I felt the same way about the tree. Because its majesty will last only-a week, it should be especially precious to us. And I had almost missed it.Once when Emily Dickenson's father noticed a brilliant display of northern lights in the sky over Massachusetts, he tolled a church bell to alert townspeople. That's what I felt like doing about the tree. I wanted to become a Paul Revere of autumn, awakening the countryside to its wonder.I didn't have a church bell or a horse, but as I walked home, I did ask each neighbor I passed the same simple but momentous question Mrs. Gargan had asked me: "Have you seen the tree?"　　twilight　　n. 暮光；黄昏　　　　splash　　n. 班驳；飞溅　　　　palette

　　n. 调色板　　　　burgundy　　n. 紫红色　　　　cascade　　v. 一连串；一束　　　　rivulet　　n. 小河；小溪　　　　blotch　　n. 班驳　　　　pilgrim　　n. 朝圣者　　　　pastiche　　n. 集成曲　　　　constellations　　n. 星座　　　　momentous　　adj. 重大的，重要的　 　　　　　　　　 　　 　　　你见过那棵树吗？　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　 罗伯特·S·凯弗　　　　关于那棵树，最初是我的邻居加根太太告诉我的。那天，我坐在后院欣赏着十月的暮色，加根太太过来问我：“你见过那棵树吗？”　　她接着说：“就是那边下去拐角的一棵，五颜六色的，漂亮极了，好多车路过都停下来看，你该去看看才是。”　　我对她说我会去看的，可转眼我就把这事全忘了。三天后，我在街上跑步，脑子里牵挂着几件扰人的小事，昏昏沉沉的。忽然，一片耀眼的橘红色跃入眼帘，一时间，我还以为是谁家的房子着火了呢，但我马上就想到了加根太太说的那棵树。　　我朝那棵树走去时，不由渐渐放慢脚步。这棵树的形状并没有什么特别之处，只是一株不大不小的枫树。但加根太太说得不错，它的颜色确实奇特。整棵树就像画家手中五彩斑斓的调色板，树底部的枝丫是鲜艳的梅红色，树的中部则燃烧着明快的鹅黄色和橘红色，再往上，到了树梢，枝条又缓缓地过渡成绛红色。在这火样的色彩中，流淌着浅绿的叶子汇成的小溪，深绿的叶子则斑驳点缀其间，竟似至今未曾受过一点秋天的侵袭。　　这棵枫树集各国颜色之大成于一身，它张开宽大的枝丫，历数着四季轮回，容纳着五湖四海，俨然是一个地球。深浅错落的绿叶，昭示着南半球的春夏，灿黄的花叶和光秃秃的枝丫勾勒出北半球的秋冬。整个星球就是围绕这一时空的交集点和谐运转。　　我慢慢走近这棵枫树，就像虔诚的朝圣者缓缓步向神殿。我发现靠近树梢的地方有几根光秃秃的枝桠，上面黑乎乎的小枝像鹰爪一般伸向天空。这些枯枝上落下的叶子一片猩红，像地毯似的铺在树干周围。　　我不禁为这棵树无所不包的美惊叹不已。这时，我想起了著名作家拉尔夫·沃尔多·埃默森有关星星的那段评论。他在《自然》一书中写道：倘若星座一千年才出现一次，那么，星座的出现该是一桩多么激动人心的事；可正因为星座每夜都挂在天上，人们才很少去看上一眼。　　对于眼前这棵树，我也有同感。这棵树此时的华美只能维持一个星期，所以它对于我们就相当珍贵。可我竟差一点错过了。　　有一次，当著

名诗人埃米莉·迪金森的父亲偶然看见马萨诸塞州上空一道炫目的北极光时，他立刻跑到教堂鸣钟以告知所有市民。现在，对这棵树，我也产生了这种传颂它的冲动。我愿成为秋天忠诚的信使，让田园乡村每一个角落的人们都了解它的奇妙。　　可我没有教堂的大钟，也没有快马，但我因在回家路上每遇见一位邻居，就会去问他那个加根太太曾问过我的极其简单又极其重要的问题：“你见过那棵树吗？”All I know is that I would probably change and with my past gambling experience I know that this change this change would not be for the better.Gambling on Our FutureBy J. G. FabianoAbout 90 percent of the 258 York citizens voted against the development of a casino at a straw poll sponsored by the York's Chamber of Commerce. In fact, businesses were encouraged to vote separately and of the twenty-nine voting, 75 percent voted against casino development.According to printed reports, Cathy Goodwin, who is executive director of the chamber, stated that many voters noted on ballots specific areas of concern including traffic congestion, loss of quality of life in the region, and the belief a casino would present the wrong image for the State.As I sat in my car waiting for the traffic to let me enter onto Route One, I remembered a time when I barely saw a car on the road. I remember one time about 25 years ago when I drove out on Broadway from my home on Iris Avenue. Back then I never looked for traffic and because of this I almost ran into the only other car on the road. The accident scene would have looked like a bowling ball hitting a ten-pin.I took the time to reminisce about some of my experiences with the wonderful world of gambling. The first time I had ever walked into a casino happened about 20 years ago when my wife and I decided to vacation in Las Vegas. Actually it was just a two-day stopover because the bulk of our vacation was in Hawaii.Flying into the city was an experience in itself. Most of the time I couldn't see anything because it was a nighttime flight. All of a sudden I noticed some light on the horizon and then within minutes we were flying into what seemed to me to be something either on fire or radioactive.Driving from the airport to our hotel was like wandering through a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. Lights, chrome, and glass were everywhere. Slot machines were also everywhere. They met us at the airport, along the sides of the road, and at small stores and gas stations. I even noticed some in the lobby of our hotel. Hell, they were even in the halls of the motel that led up to our room. I was surprised there weren't any in the elevator. Another thing I noticed was that none of the machines were vacant. They all had someone pouring in coins and pulling the arm that supposedly was a key to their fort

une.When we got into our room I just wanted to run down to the casino. Every motel in Las Vegas had a casino. My wife told me to slow down so she could organize our stuff. About a half an hour later I was walking into what I thought at the time was fantasy land. There were lights everywhere and the sounds of bells and buzzers guaranteed in my mind that my fortune was not that far away. My wife decided to check out the shows while I decided to explore.Wandering through the casino I noticed an empty slot machine next to a rather robust woman who was concentrating on her own machine. In fact, this was a bit odd because there were empty slot machines on both sides of her. I wondered if she had a personal hygiene problem!Because there were few empty machines I jumped into the chair and immediately threw my quarter into the slot. The woman next to me turned her head and started to scream. This shocked me to the point of screaming back at her, like E.T. did when he was discovered inside the closet. After a few seconds of staring at each other, she started yelling at me that I had destroyed her system and that if I didn't get out of that chair within a microsecond something very unpleasant would happen to me.I also noticed that everyone in that particular row of slot machines was staring at me. They weren't pleasant stares. I decided to evacuate the area and find my wife. As I was wandering I noticed that there was an empty seat at a blackjack table. The person sitting next to the seat was an elderly gentleman who was wearing the largest ring I had ever seen. It was jade, or at least I think it was, but I wondered if he wore if for looks or for the exercise of carrying it around on his hand?I sit down and threw out my ten dollars in order to play a few hands everyone at the table started to stare at me. The rest of the table was filled with grandmother-type women who looked like they should be sitting in some senior citizen bingo game instead of being locked in combat at a gambling table.This time I was not yelled at. I was just stared at until I asked if I had taken someone's seat. The dealer must have seen the terror on my face because she compassionately explained that I had just sat down at the $100 table. After hyperventilating, I smiled and continued my search for my wife.As I walked through what I could only explain as being a circus I remembered that I had a small camera in my jacket. So, naturally I decided to take it out and take some pictures of my surroundings. I then felt something very heavy on my right shoulder. It started to squeeze. I looked around and saw one of the largest man I have ever had the experience of meeting. At least I think he was a man. Again, I was being stared at and all I could do was stare back.He then broke his silence by asking, "What the hell are you doing?" All I could answer was that I had no concept of what I was doing but if I was supposed to do it. I will do it la

ter or if I was not supposed to do it, I didn't. The giant in front of me did not enjoy my humor and immediately took my camera away from me. A better description of this was that he pried my hand open and crushed my camera in the vice he called his hand. He then told me that I could pick up my camera when I left the casino but I doubted if what was left in his hand had any resemblance to what used to be a camera.I then found my wife at the front desk looking through a schedule of shows that were taking place in the hotel. She asked me if I was enjoying myself and I asked her if she found a show we could immediately enjoy. She took that as a 'no' and off to a basically mediocre show we went.As I was watching the show I remembered another experience I had with gambling. My wife and I were in Aruba and because the sun was incredibly hot she decided to take a nap in our room before we went out to dinner. Since I was not tired I told her that I would take $10 and spend a few seconds at the small casino that was in the motel.I sat down at a blackjack table. I was given my chips and to my absolute shock I won the first hand. My God, I actually won! In fact, I defeated the house on the next ten hands. All of a sudden my little pile of chips had begun to resemble Mount Agamenticus but I wanted more. I wanted Mount Everest!I spent the next two hours at that table. All I could think about was when after I finished at the table and went back to the room I would bury my now sleeping wife with our new fortune. She would forever think of me as a King of Chance and both of us would never have to work another second in our lives. Then it happened. I lost my last dollar.This wouldn't have been so bad had it not been for the fact that I left my wife sleeping in our room for two hours. This was not a good thing because she had been looking for me for the past half hour and found me the second I lost my last dollar. I tried to describe the immense fortune I had acquired. She just shook her head and off to dinner fled.That night at dinner, we sat next to a couple who were having a serious conversation. They were dressed in clothes that would make a lot more sense in some other city. They were young but they had an old feeling to them. They were also not very happy. She was crying and he was yelling that they should have brought more money. She looked away from him and then glanced at me. She looked as though she had a need to plead with anyone to ask how she could change her reality of what they had become.I was not part of the straw poll that The York's Chamber of Commerce had on Saturday. If I had been there, I would have probably voted with the majority. I can't honestly say what would happen to my town if gambling were to become legal. All I know is that I would probably change and with my past gambling experience I know that this change would not be for the better.　　congestion　　n. 拥塞　　　　radi

oactive　　adj. 发射性的　　　　robust　　adj. 强壮的　　　　compassionately　　adv. 富于同情心地　　　　hyperventilate　　v. 喘气，用力呼吸　　　　mediocre　　adj. 普通的　　　　Aruba　　n. 阿卢巴岛［拉丁美洲］荷属安的列斯群岛中的大岛　　Slot machines were also everywhere and none of the machines were vacant. They all had someone pouring in coins and pulling the arm that supposedly was a key to their fortune.　　老虎机到处都是，并且所有的机器都是满的。人们一边在倾倒着硬币，一边在摇晃着控制杆，好像那就是他们通向富贵之门的钥匙。　　The rest of the table was filled with grandmother-type women who looked as like they should be sitting in some senior citizen bingo game instead of being locked in combat at a gambling table.　　桌上其他的人都是祖母型的女人，我当时想，这些长者应该坐在休闲的宾果游戏桌上，而不是被禁锢在如同战场般的赌博台上。　　My God, I actually won! In fact, I defeated the house on the next ten hands. All of a sudden my little pile of chips had begun to resemble Mount Agamenticus but I wanted more. I wanted Mount Everest!　　哎呀，我真的赢了，我连赢了庄家10把，我身前的筹码渐渐堆得像约克市的阿德曼克斯山一般高了。但我还想赢得更多，希望筹码能堆得像喜马拉雅山一样高。　　They were also not very happy. She was crying and he was yelling that they should have brought more money.　　他们都很不开心，女的正在哭泣，而男的却吼着说他们该带多点钱出来。　　All I know is that I would probably change and with my past gambling experience I know that this change would not be for the better.　　我只知道我可能会变，而根据我以往的赌博经验，这种改变没可能朝着好的方向发展。　　我只知道我可能会变，而根据我以往的赌博经验，这种改变没可能朝着好的方向发展。　　当明天成为筹码　　詹姆斯·费比阿诺　　　　约克商会就在市区内兴建赌场这一提案进行了一次民意测验，在被采访的258位约克市市民中，大约有九成的人投了反对票。事实上，尽管商家们被鼓励进行单独投票，在总共的29个投票中，75%的商家还是投了反对票。　　在一份出版的报告中，商会执行董事长凯西·贾荣指出，很多投票的市民就赌场可能带来的影响表示了关注，其中包括：交通堵塞，生活质量下降以及州的整体形象遭破坏等。　　我在车上等着前面的车走完好让我转入第一车道，这时，我记起以前马路上几乎没有什么车辆的情景。我还记得在25年前，有一次我开车从我家的艾莉丝路往百老汇路驾驶，在

那个时候根本没有任何塞车问题，也就是因为这样，我几乎和那条路上唯一的另一辆车相撞。如果车祸真的发生的话，车祸现场一定会惨不忍睹，跟保龄球打出全中一样。　　不经意间，我想起自己在奥妙的博彩世界里的一些赌博经历。我第一次入赌场是在20年前，当时我太太和我决定在赌城拉斯维加斯度假。但实际上我们只是在那里停留了两天，我们假期的大部分是在夏威夷度过的。　　飞入这个城市本身就是一次奇特的体验。由于是夜间飞行，大多数时候我根本看不到任何东西。可就在突然间，先是在地平线上出现一些灯光，接着短短的几分钟内我就觉得自己好像飞进了灯与火的海洋。　　从机场开车到我们旅馆，沿途灯彩琉璜，感觉就像是在平安夜观赏圣诞树一般新奇。机场、路边、小百货店、加油站，到处都是老虎机。甚至在旅馆的大堂里我也发现了老虎机。在我住的汽车旅馆，就连房间外的过道都放了老虎机。到处都是老虎机，最后我甚至觉得没有在电梯里放上老虎机倒是令人奇怪的事情。另外一件事就是所有的机器都是满的，人们一边在倾倒着硬币，一边在摇晃着控制杆，好像那就是他们通向富贵之门的钥匙。　　当我走进我们的房间后，我满脑子想的就是去赌一把。反正拉斯维加斯每个旅馆里都有一个赌场。我太太要我慢一点，她得把行李整理好。半小时后，我步入了我当时认为是仙境乐土的赌场。到处都是灯火辉煌，铃铃声与嘟嘟声让我觉得富贵与我只是咫尺之遥而已。我太太想知道表演节目的内容，而我则决定试试手气。　　在闲逛中，我居然发现了一台空机器。旁边坐着一位相当健硕的女人，她正在聚精会神地玩她的那台机器。事实上，当时的情形有点奇怪，她两边的机器都是空着的。我那时猜想她是不是有点洁癖！　　由于当时没有空的老虎机剩下，于是我就跳上了那张椅子，急不可待地把一个25美分的硬币塞进了机器。可那女子突然转头尖叫起来。我不由自主地也尖叫起来，就像在电影《外星人（ET）》里外星人在被人从衣柜里发现时一样大声尖叫。我们互相瞪了对方一番，然后她开始冲我吼，说我弄坏了她的机器，败了她的赌运。她还恶狠狠地警告说，如果我不立刻从那张椅子上滚下来，她会对我不客气。　　同时我还注意到那一排老虎机上的其他人都在盯着我，那眼神一点也不友善。于是我决定立刻离开这个是非之地，顺便去找找我的太太。在闲逛中，我看见在21点的台边有个空位。空位旁边坐着位年老的绅士，他手上戴着一只我所见过的最大的戒指，应该是翡翠，如果我没看走眼。他戴这

戒指是为着赏心悦目还是拿来做手部运动我就不得而知了。　　我坐了下来，甩出了我10美元的钞票，想好好玩几把。桌上的人又开始盯着我看。桌上其他的人都是祖母型的女人，我当时想，这些长者应该坐在休闲的宾果游戏桌上，而不是被禁锢在如同战场般的赌博台上。　　这次没人对我尖叫，她们只是盯着我看，直到我问是不是我坐了别人的位置。庄家一定看到了我脸上惊惶失措的神情，她用同情的口吻跟我解释说，我坐到了100美元一次的桌上。我猛吸了几口气，然后面带笑容地继续寻找我的太太。　　我好像在马戏团里游荡一般走来走去，突然我想起我的夹克里有个小型照相机。很自然地我决定把它拿出来，拍一些周围的景色。突然间我觉得我的右肩被重重地压着，简直像是被挤压一般。我回过头来，看见一个巨人，一个我从来没见过的大个子。起码，我还知道他是个人。我又一次被人盯着，而我能做的只是回望着他。　　他首先质问我起来，“你到底在搞什么鬼？”我能回答的只是，我都不知道自己在干什么，但如果我必须做的话，我以后也会再做的。而如果我不是必须去做的话，我刚才就不会去做了。那大个子巨人一点都不觉得我的话好笑，劈手就把我的相机给抢了过去。说得好听一点，他只是把我的手掰开，把我的相机放在他老虎钳一样的手上，然后开始挤压。他接着跟我说我可以在离开赌场时取回我的相机。但我却知道，当我取回相机时早就面目全非。　　我终于在前台处找到了我的太太，她正在浏览这个旅馆上演的节目单。她问我玩得开不开心，我反问她可不可以立刻看场表演找点快乐。她明白了我的意思，然后俩人一起看了一场差劲的表演。　　在看表演时，我又想起了我的另外一次赌博经历。当时我和我的太太在阿卢巴岛，由于天气异常炎热，我太太就想回房间里小睡一下，然后再出来一起吃饭。而我却是毫无倦意，于是我就告诉她说，我想花上10美元在我们住的汽车旅馆的小赌场里消磨一下。　　我坐在21点的台边，买了我的筹码。真没想到，我居然赢了第一把。哎呀，我真的赢了，我连赢了庄家10把，我身前的筹码渐渐堆得像约克市的阿德曼克斯山一般高了。但我还想赢得更多，希望筹码能堆得像喜马拉雅山一样高。　　接下来的两个小时我都陷在赌桌上，满脑子想的都是要赢钱。我满脑子里幻想的尽是赌完钱回旅馆房间时用刚赢到手的大把银子把我那沉睡着的老婆埋起来的情景，她一定会把我当成幸运之王，我们俩从此再也不用工作了。于是到了最后，我输了个精光。　　如果我没让我老

婆在房里睡两个小时的话，事情也不会那么糟糕。糟糕的是她提前起来并找我找了半个多小时，却在我输掉最后一个铜板的那一秒发现了我，我尝试着跟她解释说，我也曾经赢过一笔为数不小的财富。她只是摇了摇头，自个吃饭去了。　　那晚吃饭时，我们边上坐着另一对夫妇，他们争执得很凶。他们的穿着显然和这个城市并不太协调，俩人都很年轻，可是显得很苍老。他们都很不开心，女的正在哭泣，而男的却吼着说他们该带多点钱出来。女的把眼光从男的身上游离开去，瞥了我一眼。她看上去好像在请求着周围的随便什么人告诉她该如何脱离他们所陷入的这种现状。　　我并没有参与周六由约克商会组织的民意测验，如果我参与了，我想我也会和大多数人一样投反对票。如果赌博在我们的城市合法化，我实在不知道会带来怎样的后果。我只知道我可能会变，而根据我以往的赌博经验，这种改变没可能朝着好的方向发展。It was the policy of the good old gentlemen to make his children feel that home was the happiest place in the world; and I value this delicious home-feeling, as one of the choicest gifts a parent can bestow.-Irving Washington, Father of literature of the United StatesLove in BloomBy Judy CoulterI was nine when my father first sent me flowers. I had been taking tapdancing lessons for six months, and the school was giving its yearly recital. As an excited member of the beginners' chorus line, I was aware of my lowly status.So it was a surprise to have my name called out at the end of the show along with the lead dancers and to find my arms full of long-stemmed red roses. I can still feel myself standing on that stage, blushing furiously and gazing over the footlights to see my father's grin as he applauded loudly.Those roses were the first in a series of large bouquets that accompanied all the milestones in my life. They brought a sense of embarrassment. I enjoyed them, but was flustered by the extravagance.Not my father. He did everything in a big way. If you sent him to the bakery for a cake, he came back with three. Once, when Mother told him I needed a new party dress, he brought home a dozen.His behavior often left us without funds for other more important things. After the dress incident, there was no money for the winter coat I really needed-or the new ice skates I wanted.Sometimes I would be angry with him, but not for long. Inevitably he would buy me something to make up with me. The gift was so apparently an offering of love he could not verbalize that I would throw my arms around him and kiss him-an act that undoubtedly perpetuated his behavior.Then came my 16th birthday. It was not a happy occasion. I was fat and had no boyf

riend. And my well-meaning parents furthered my misery by giving me a party. As I entered the dining room, there on the table next to my cake was a huge bouquet of flowers, bigger than any before.I wanted to hide. Now everyone would think my father had sent flowers because I had no boyfriend to do it. Sweet 16, and I felt like crying. I probably would have, but my best friend, Phyllis, whispered, "Boy, you're lucky to have a father like that."As the years passed, other occasions-birthdays, recitals, awards, graduations-were marked with Dad's flowers. My emotions continued to seesaw between pleasure and embarrassment.When I graduated from college, though, my days of ambivalence were over. I was embarking on a new career and was engaged to be married. Dad's flowers symbolized his pride, and my triumph. They evoked only great pleasure.Now there were bright-orange mums for Thanksgiving and a huge pink poinsettia at Christmas. White lilies at Easter, and velvety red roses for birthdays. Seasonal flowers in mixed bouquets celebrated the births of my children and the move to our first house.As my fortunes grew, my father's waned, but his gifts of flowers continued until he died of a heart attack a few months before his 70th birthday. Without embarrassment, I covered his coffin with the largest, reddest roses I could find.Often in the dozen years since, I felt an urge to go out and buy a big bouquet to fill the living room, but I never did. I knew it would not be the same.Then one birthday, the doorbell rang. I was feeling blue because I was alone. My husband was playing golf, and my two daughters were away. My 13-year-old son, Matt, had run out earlier with a "see you later," never mentioning my birthday. So I was surprised to see his large frame at the door. "Forgot my key," he said, shrugging. "Forgot your birthday too. Well, I hope you like flowers, Mum." He pulled a bunch of daisies from behind his back."Oh, Matt," I cried, hugging him hard. "I love flowers!"　　footlights　　n. （戏）脚光　　　　extravagance　　n. 奢侈，铺张；浪费　　　　verbalize　　v. 用词语描述；用词语表达　　　　perpetuate　　v. 使永久存在；使不朽　　　　seesaw　　v. 交替；起伏；涨落　　　　ambivalence　　n. 矛盾心理　　　　poinsettia　　n. [植] 一品红，猩猩木　　　　velvety　　adj. 天鹅绒般柔软光滑的　　让孩子感到家庭是世界上最幸福的地方，这是以往有涵养的大人明智的做法。这种美妙的家庭情感，在我看来，和大人赠给孩子们的那些最精致的礼物一样珍贵。　　—美国文学之父 华盛顿·欧文　　鲜花中的爱　　朱迪·库尔特　　　　父亲第一次给我送花是在我九岁那年。当时，我加

入学校踢踏舞班才学了六个月，正逢学校举办一年一度的演出。我只能编入新学员合唱队，却依然兴致勃勃。不过我清楚自己只是个不起眼的小角色。　　可演出一结束，我竟与主舞的演员一起给喊到前台，双手捧着一束枝繁叶茂的红玫瑰。我站在舞台上的情景至今仍历历在目，双颊绯红，越过绚丽的脚灯光线向下张望，看见的竟是父亲的笑脸，他一面使劲地鼓掌，一面快活地笑着。　　这束鲜花是第一束，往后，每逢我人生一个里程碑，父亲都要送我一大束鲜花。可收到那些鲜花，我的心情总是很矛盾：既高兴，又有些不自在。我喜爱鲜花，可又为这种奢侈而不安。　　父亲却从不会觉得不安，他做什么事都大方得很。你若让他去糕点铺买一块蛋糕，他定会买来三块。一次，母亲对他说我需要一条新舞裙，他竟买回一打。　　他这么做常常使我们没有钱再去添置其它更需要的东西。那次他买回一打舞裙后，就再也没钱去买我真正急需的冬大衣和我一直向往的新溜冰鞋。　　有时我会为这些事跟父亲赌气，但时间都不会长。每次他必定会给我买些礼物与我和好。这礼物显然传达着他不善用言辞表达的爱。这时我便会搂住父亲，吻他—这亲昵的行为无疑会使他再度大方。　　后来迎来了我16岁生日，可我并不快活。我长得胖，那时还没有男朋友。好心的父母为我准备了个生日晚会，可这更让我觉得难受。我走进餐厅，看见餐桌上生日蛋糕旁边，摆着很大一束鲜花，比以往的都要大。　　我真想找个地缝钻进去，这下谁都会以为我没有男朋友送花，只好由父亲来送了。16岁该是最甜蜜的，我却只想哭。或许当时我的确会哭的，但我最好的朋友菲利斯在我耳边小声说：“嘿，你有这样的父亲可真幸运。”　　随着光阴流逝，许多特别的日子，像生日、演出、获奖、毕业都会伴有父亲的鲜花。我的心情也依然在高兴与不自在之间摇摆不定。　　可我到大学毕业时，那种矛盾的心情消失了。我开始了新的工作，也订了婚。父亲的鲜花代表了他的骄傲、我的胜利。它们带来的只有极大的喜悦。　　后来每逢感恩节我们都会收到父亲的一捧黄灿灿的菊花；圣诞节会有一大束粉红的一品红；复活节是洁白的百合花；生日里会有天鹅绒般的红玫瑰；孩子出世或逢乔迁之喜，父亲会送来那个季节里盛开的许多种鲜花扎成的花束。　　随着我不断功成名就，父亲却日渐衰老，但他依然坚持给我送花，直到他70岁生日的前几个月，因心脏病发作而瘁然逝去。我在他的棺木上铺满了我所能寻得的最红最艳最大的玫瑰花，而且，没有一丝不自在。

　　往后的十二年中，我常常有一股冲动，想去买一大束鲜花装点起居室，可始终没去。我知道，即便买来，花已不是从前的花了。　　后来有一天我生日，我听见门铃响了。那天，我本来很沮丧，因为只有我一人呆在家中。丈夫打高尔夫球去了，两个女儿出远门了，13岁的儿子马特也走得格外早，只道了声“再见”，只字未提我的生日。所以我开门看见马特胖胖的身体站在门边，有几分惊讶，他耸耸肩，说道：“忘带钥匙了，也忘了今天是你生日，嗯，我希望你喜欢鲜花，妈妈。”说着，他从背后抽出一束雏菊。　　“哦，马特，”我大叫一声，紧紧搂住他，“我爱鲜花。”　　Those roses were the first in a series of large bouquets that accompanied all the milestones in my life. They brought a sense of embarrassment. I enjoyed them, but was flustered by the extravagance.　　这束鲜花是第一束，往后，每逢我人生一个里程碑，父亲都要送我一大束鲜花。可收到那些鲜花，我的心情总是很矛盾：既高兴，又有些不自在。我喜爱鲜花，可又为这种奢侈而不安。　　As the years passed, other occasions — birthdays, recitals, awards, graduations — were marked with Dad’s flowers. My emotions continued to seesaw between pleasure and embarrassment.　　随着光阴流逝，许多特别的日子，像生日、演出、获奖、毕业都会伴有父亲的鲜花。我的心情也依然在高兴与不自在之间摇摆不定。　　Now there were bright-orange mums for Thanksgiving and a huge pink poinsettia at Christmas. White lilies at Easter, and velvety red roses for birthdays. Seasonal flowers in mixed bouquets celebrated the births of my children and the move to our first house.　　后来每逢感恩节我们都会收到父亲的一捧黄灿灿的菊花；圣诞节会有一大束粉红的一品红；复活节是洁白的百合花；生日里会有天鹅绒般的红玫瑰；孩子出世或逢乔迁之间喜，父亲会送来那个季节里盛开的许多种鲜花扎成的花束。　　　　Part 4 Endless Love　　　　第四部分 无尽的爱　　　　在成长过程中，是父母用爱为子女撑起一片晴朗的天空。人可以一无所有，却不能没有父母亲人的爱，无论何时何地家永远是向游子敞开大门的地方。We never know the love of the parents until we become parents ourselves.-Henry Ward Beecher, American clergyman and oratorA Room of His OwnBy Mary E. PotterUnmistakable noises are coming through my bedroom wall. Now a scuffling, now a bumping, a thumping, a long, drawn-out scraping. "John, are you moving furniture in there? Again?" I call. The wall muffles his "yes" but does not filter out of his voice the tinge of excitement.I am not upset by

these impulsive rearrangements, just amused at their frequency. I remember my own feelings when I was 13 as he is-the startling, rapid evolution of body and mind and emotions, the need to invent and reinvent yourself through clothes, hairstyles and the arrangement and decor of your room.Amid the smothered thuds, I remember how much John longed for the privacy of his own domain, how he took me aside two years ago when he was sharing a room with his younger brother, Robert, "Mom," he said, "can I please have a room of my own? I could use Jeff's. He won't mind."It was true that Jeff had graduated from college that past June and had flown from the nest. But would he mind if the place where he had spent countess hours growing up was yanked out from under him? Would he feel ousted from the family, barred from ever coming home again?But beyond his feelings, would I mind? That room was so much a part of our lives over the many years that Jeff had been our only child. In it I taught him to read; we constructed architectural wonders out of blocks and set up elaborate desks. It was where Jeff perfected his artwork and struggled with college applications. It was the place where I told him a thousand stories and where we had a thousand talks.As close as we were, though, the time came when Jeff needed a door between us, a space of his own to grow in. The door to that bedroom would be shut most of the evening, behind it the muffled sound of a radio or the clack of his secondhand manual typewriter as he banged out one of his marathon letters.I know those letters to friends must have been filled with thoughts and opinions Jeff did not share with me. His life was spreading into areas that had nothing to do with home and family. I no longer could-or should-know everything about him.As conscientious parents, we strive to foster independence. But when it happens, when you pause outside that door and look at the blank panels, it is always a little unsettling.It turned out that getting Jeff's permission to change the room was easy. "Of course," he said. "It would be selfish of me to hold on to it." Then his voice softened. "Mom, I won't be living at home again-you know that." Behind his glasses, his eyes were lit with all the love that has passed between us over the years. There were no doors closed here-they had all opened up again.Then John and I jumped into the task of cleaning out closets and drawers, dispatching all the things Jeff had left behind. Play-bills and snapshots, a withered boutonniere, old report cards that stung me with pride; a stack of homemade thank-you cards from the second-grade Spanish class Jeff volunteered to teach.Suddenly, amid all the upheaval, my throat caught. There, in a pile of assorted sketches, was a pencil drawing of T-Bird-Jeff's beagle, dead these many years-curled up asleep. Jeff's rendering was so evocative I could almost feel the dear old dog's satiny, warm ears. And in that

room, with Jeff's things heaped around me, I could almost touch the little boy I knew was gone forever.But we accept-at least we say we do. All of parenting is a series of letting go by degrees. The child walks and runs and rides a bike; he is stricken with the pangs of first love that we are powerless to kiss away. Then he is driving a car, and we are falling asleep before he gets home, alert, even in our dreams, to the sound of his motor gearing down.I looked at the room around me and, in my heart, I let it go. To hold on would be, as Jeff said, selfish. Now it was time for John, shouldering through the door with an armload of his things, his eyes bright with the promise of independence, to disappear behind the door. It was time for the letting go to begin again.　　scuffling　　n. 扭打　　　　tinge　　n. 痕迹，性质　　　　decor　　n. （房间、家具等的）装饰（布局），装潢（风格）　　　　ousted　　adj. 被驱逐的，被罢黜的　　　　clack　　n. 劈啪声，爆裂声　　　　snapshot　　n. 快照　　　　boutonniere　　n. 别在钮孔上的花（或花束）　　　　upheaval　　n. 混乱；动乱　　　　beagle　　n. 小猎犬　　　　satiny　　adj. 缎子似的，柔软的，光滑的　　　　heap　　v. 使成堆；堆积　　Unmistakable noises are coming through my bedroom wall. Now a scuffling, now a bumping, a thumping, a long, drawn-out scraping.　　透过卧室墙壁，杂乱的声音清晰地传过来。一会儿是刺啦刺啦拖东西，一会儿又稀里哗啦撞倒了什么，一会儿又叮叮咚咚敲打起来，这会儿又嘶嘶嘶没完没了刮着什么。　　All of parenting is a series of letting go by degrees. The child walks and runs and rides a bike; he is stricken with the pangs of first love that we are powerless to kiss away. Then he is driving a car, and we are falling asleep before he gets home, alert, even in our dreams, to the sound of his motor gearing down.　　所有养儿育女的过程就是一步步放手的过程。孩子先是学会走，然后跑，然后骑自行车，然后他会被初恋刺痛，而我们爱莫能助，再往后他便学会了开车，在他回家之前，我们就睡了，却即便在梦中，也会竖起一只耳朵听着他车子减速的声音。He knew, of course, that she wouldn't remember any of this. For her there would be other snowfalls to recall. But for him, it was her first. Their first. And the memory would stay cold and hard, fresh in his thoughts, long after the snowman melted.First SnowBy Jonathan NicholasHe wasn't sure what had awakened him. Perhaps the child had made some small noise in her sleep. But as he peeked from beneath the covers, his gaze was drawn not to the cradle but to the window.

It was then that he realized what had sneaked through the shield of his slumbers. It was the sense of falling snow.Quietly, so as not to disturb the child's mother, he rose from the bed and inched toward the cradle. Reaching down, he gently lifted the warm bundle to his shoulder. Then, as he tiptoed from the bedroom, she lifted her head, opened her eyes and-daily dose of magic-smiled up at her dad.He carried her downstairs, counting the creaks on the way. Together, they settled in at the kitchen table, and the adult in him slipped away. Two children now, they pressed their noses against the glass.The light from the street lamp on the corner filtered down through the birch trees, casting a glow as green as a summer memory upon the winter-brown back yard. From the distance came the endless echo of the stoplight, flashing its ruby message, teasing like a dawn that would not come.The flakes were falling thick and hard now, pouring past the window, a waterfall of mystery. Occasionally, one would stick to the glass, as if reluctant to tumble to its fate. Then, slowly, slipping and sliding down the glass, it would melt, its beauty fleeting. Gone.Within an hour, a white tablecloth was spread upon the lawn. And as gray steaks of dawn unraveled along the black seam of the distant hills, father and daughter watched the new day ripple across the neighborhood.A porch light came on. A car door slammed. A television flickered.Across the street, a family scurried into gear. But this day was different. Glimpsed through undraped windows as they darted from room to room, the slim figures of the children seemed to grow ever fatter until, finally, the kitchen door flew open and out burst three awesomely bundled objects that set instantly to rolling in the snow.He wondered where they had learned this behavior. Even the littlest one, for whom this must have been the first real snowfall, seemed to know instinctively what to do.They rolled in it, they tasted it, they packed it into balls and tossed it at one another. Then, just when he thought they might not know everything, they set about shaping a snowman on the crest of the hill.By the time the snowman's nose was in place, the neighborhood was fully awake. A car whined in protest, but skidded staunchly out of its driveway. Buses ground forward like Marines, determined to take the hill. And all the while, the baby sat secure and warm in his arms.He knew, of course, that she wouldn't remember any of this. For her there would be other snowfalls to recall. But for him, it was her first. Their first. And the memory would stay, cold and hard, fresh in his thoughts, long after the snowman melted.　　peek　　v. 偷看，窥视　　　　slumber　　n. 睡眠；微睡　　　　creak　　n. 吱吱嘎嘎的声　　　　birch　　n. 桦，白桦　　　　tumble　　v. 倒塌；跌倒　　　　unravel

　　v. 解开，拆散　　　　flicker　　v. 闪烁；忽隐忽现　　　　scurry　　v. 急匆匆地跑；急赶　　　　crest　　n. 顶；山峰　　　　staunchly　　adv. 坚固地　　他知道，他的宝宝自然不会记住今天看到的一切。对他的宝宝来说，往后会有别的雪景让她去回忆。可对他来说，今天这场雪是他宝宝生命中的第一场雪，是他们共同经历的第一场雪。即便是那个雪人完全融化了，这场雪也会带着它的寒意，真真切切地长留在他的回忆中。　　第一场雪　　乔纳森·尼古拉斯　　　　他还不大清楚是什么把他从睡梦中唤醒了，也许是孩子在梦里弄出的小声响吧，可当他悄悄从被里探出头来，吸引他目光的不是小女儿的摇篮，而是窗外。　　这会儿他才知道是什么悄然袭入他的梦乡，让他醒来。是他感觉到了窗外簌簌飘舞的雪。　　为了不吵醒孩子的母亲，他轻轻起来，一点点挪近女儿的摇篮，俯身轻柔地将这温热的襁褓抱起，蹑手蹑脚走出卧室。这时，他怀中的小宝宝睁开眼睛，扬起头，像往常一样，冲爸爸一笑，这笑总让爸爸心中有说不出的甜美。　　他抱着小女儿往楼下走，小心翼翼地，惟恐弄出一点儿声响。他们在厨房的餐桌边站定。此时，他觉得心中那种成人的感觉溜得无影无踪了。现在是两个孩子，鼻子贴着玻璃看雪。　　街角路灯的光透过白桦树，洒在地上，一片暗绿，仿佛在冬天桔黄的花园里投下了一抹夏日的记忆。远处红色交通灯的光无休止地渗透过来，红宝石一般闪烁着，如同姗姗来迟的黎明逗人地眨着眼睛。　　这会儿雪花越来越大，越下越密了，从窗前纷纷扬扬地飘过，像神秘的飞瀑。偶尔，有一片雪花粘在窗玻璃上，似乎是不甘心于命运，不愿就这么落到地上去，于是，它在窗上慢慢地滑落，然后融化，它的美丽也倏地消失了。　　不到一小时，草坪就像罩上了雪白的台布。一道道灰蒙蒙的曙色沿着远处幽暗的山峰铺散开来。此时，父女俩便看到新的一天向邻舍蔓延开去。　　先是一家门廊里亮了灯，接着传来“砰”的下车关门声，然后谁家电视机又忽闪忽闪地亮了起来。　　街对面，有一家人拉开了窗帘，很快开始了新的一天。可今天有点不大一样，透过窗户，只见那家的几个孩子在几间房屋里来回跑动，瘦小的身形似乎变得越来越胖，最后，厨房门蓦地打开了，蹦出来三个包裹得圆圆滚滚的小东西，在雪地里打起滚来。　　他暗自诧异他们是从哪儿学来的这一招。即便是那个最小的孩子，按说这应该是他真正经历的第

一场雪，可他也似乎本能地知道在雪中该做些什么。　　那几个孩子在雪地里打滚，把雪放在口中品尝，又攒起雪球打仗。他想，他们知道的玩法也许就这么多，不会什么都知道吧。可就在这时，那几个孩子已开始在山头堆起了雪人。　　待他们把雪人的鼻子做好，邻居们也全部醒了。一辆小车在小道上拼命地“呜呜”叫着，可还是滑到了一边。公共汽车则像停在浅滩的海军陆战队一样，随时准备夺取前面的小山。而这段时间，他的小宝宝一直暖暖地、安逸地躺在他的怀中。　　他知道，他的宝宝自然不会记住今天看到的一切。对他的宝宝来说，往后会有别的雪景让她去回忆；可对他来说，今天这场雪是他宝宝生命中的第一场雪，是他们共同经历的第一场雪。即便是那个雪人完全融化了，这场雪也会带着它的寒意，真真切切地长留在他的回忆中。　　Together, they settled in at the kitchen table, and the adult in him slipped away. Two children now, they pressed their noses against the glass.　　此时，他觉得心中那种成人的感觉溜得无影无踪了。现在是两个孩子，鼻子贴着玻璃看雪。　　Within an hour, a white tablecloth was spread upon the lawn. And as gray steaks of dawn unraveled along the black seam of the distant hills, father and daughter watched the new day ripple across the neighborhood.　　不到一小时，草坪就像罩上了雪白的台布。一道道灰蒙蒙的曙色沿着远处幽暗的山峰铺散开来。此时，父女俩便看到新的一天向邻舍蔓延开去。　　He knew, of course, that she wouldn’t remember any of this. For her there would be other snowfalls to recall. But for him, it was her first. Their first. And the memory would stay, cold and hard, fresh in his thoughts, long after the snowman melted.　　他知道，他的宝宝自然不会记住今天看到一切。对他的宝宝来说，往后会有别的雪景让她去回忆；可对他来说，今天这场雪是他宝宝生命中的第一场雪，是他们共同经历的第一场雪。即便是那个雪人完全融化了，这场雪也会带着它的寒意，真真切切地长留在他的回忆中。