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Spring Spring is not always the same. In some year, April bursts 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.In other year, 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 are out there, ”I cry “Come in!” And April slips into our arms.Look to the rue anemone, if you will, or 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 certainly of spring recurring, who can fear the distant fall? 春 春不总是千篇一律的。有时候,四月一个健步就跃上了弗吉尼亚的小山丘。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了新绿。 有时候,春又悄然来临。它欲前又止,羞涩腼腆,就像我的小孙女,倚在门口偷偷往里瞅,又一下子跑开了,不见踪影,从门厅传出她咯咯的笑声。我喊一声:“我知道你在那儿,进来吧!”于是四月便倏地一下飞进我们的怀抱。 去看看白头翁花,如果你愿意,再去看看豌豆田,或是那倔强地将手臂伸过城市街道的野草。他们从前是这样,现在是这样,将来还会是这样,这是个永不停息的世界。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? |
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