Spring Thaw 春天的融化
Spring Thaw 春天的融化
◎ Bertrand Russell
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.”
每年4月我總是被同一個(gè)念頭困擾著——今年的春天可能不會(huì)再來了吧。四周的景色看起來一片凄涼，小山、天空和森林灰蒙蒙的，就像藝術(shù)家的名畫尚未完成之前畫布上的底色一般。我的情緒十分低落，就像15年前我初次來到緬因州，迎來一次4月的降雪那樣?！爸挥械鹊瓤戳耍币粋€(gè)鄰居勸我，“說不定哪一天你一覺醒來，春天已經(jīng)來臨了。”
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.
果不其然，那年的5月3日，當(dāng)我醒來時(shí)，發(fā)現(xiàn)屋外綠意逼人，簡(jiǎn)直讓人驚異，春天好像開了閘一般突然間就來到了眼前。小山、天空和森林姹紫嫣紅，展示出它們的藍(lán)色和綠色。樹葉舒展開來，黃雀翩翩飛來覓食，黃水仙也朝天競(jìng)相生長(zhǎng)。
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.
同時(shí)，還有那棵老蘋果樹。它聳立在我家旁邊的一塊荒地中。它不屬于任何人，所以也就歸每個(gè)人所有。蘋果樹烏黑扭曲的枝條因未經(jīng)修剪而恣意蔓生。每年春天，它便蓬勃綻開花蕾，空氣中彌漫著蘋果花的芳香。當(dāng)我開著車窗驅(qū)車經(jīng)過之時(shí)，它讓我覺得仿佛到了另一個(gè)天地，像一個(gè)孩子在乘坐水滑梯一樣。
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.
直到去年為止，我還以為只有我意識(shí)到了這棵樹的存在。后來有一天，在一個(gè)明朗的春天引起的瘋狂中，我拿著整枝器和修枝剪，想除去一些雜亂無章的樹枝。我剛站到樹下，鄰居們就紛紛打開窗戶，或者走到門廊上。這些人我?guī)缀醵疾徽J(rèn)識(shí)，也很少說過話，但眼前這情形就像我未經(jīng)允許擅自闖進(jìn)他們的私家花園一樣。
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:
一位住在活動(dòng)房中的鄰居第一個(gè)發(fā)言：“你不是要砍倒它吧？”當(dāng)我砍掉一條樹枝的時(shí)候，另一個(gè)鄰居心疼得跟什么似的?！拔?，別把它弄死了。”他警告道。很快，附近幾乎一半的人都跑過來，和我一起站在了樹蔭下。我突然意識(shí)到我已經(jīng)在這兒住了五年，直到現(xiàn)在我才開始了解這些人的名字，他們是如何謀生的，他們是如何過冬的。好像這棵老蘋果樹把我們召集到樹下是為了雙重目的：為了讓我們彼此認(rèn)識(shí)，以及共享自然的美妙。這時(shí)，我不禁回憶起羅伯特·弗羅斯特的詩句：
The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
春樹幽閉的芽中藏著碧綠
To darken nature and be summer woods
即將長(zhǎng)成蔭蔭夏木和幽幽樹林
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.”
那次融洽的交流開了個(gè)好頭。就在幾天前，我在附近的店里看見一個(gè)鄰居在購(gòu)物。他說去年冬天特別漫長(zhǎng)，無不遺憾地感慨長(zhǎng)時(shí)間在這附近見不到鄰居，也沒跟他們說過話。然后，他又想了一下，看著我說：“我們需要再給那棵蘋果樹修修枝了?！?
