第1章

A careless word may kindle strife; a cruel word may wreck a life; a timely word may level stress; a loving word may heal and bless.

无心快语可能引发争执，无情之词可能折损生命，适时温语可能消弭压力，而关爱之声可能治愈心灵。

PREFACE

The Music Within

Life...what is it?

See it in the colors of autumn,

A gentle snowfall in winter,

A sudden shower in spring,

The radiance of a summer day.

Behold it in the laughter of the young and the old.

Know of it in a surge of hope,

The blessings that are bountiful.

What is life?

It is joy, awareness,

and the music within.

生命是什么？

它浸染在五彩缤纷的秋色里，

飘融在轻柔无语的冬雪中，

在阵阵春雨里，

在绚丽夏日中。

它包含在老人爽朗的笑声里，

也隐匿在孩子天真的嬉戏中。

它汹涌在人们的希望里，

它荡漾在美好的祝福中，

生命是什么？

是欢乐，是领悟，

是心灵深处的音乐。

聆听自然的声音

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.

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。

Spring Thaw

春天的融化

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 buds

To 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.”

Estival Warm Pick Berry

夏季的温馨：采浆果

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 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.”

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!”

“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.

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!”

The Story of Autumn

秋天的故事

It was the golden season. I could see the yellow leaves falling with the cool wind. For others, it is a harvest season, while for me, it is an annoying season. I was preparing for the Postgraduate Entrance Examination. But so many unhappy things made me so tired, so I decided to have a walk along the Yanjiang Road in my university.

“Autumn is a lonely season and life is uninteresting. The days in this season always get me down”, I thought when the sound of a guitar flowed into my ears, like a stream flowing from the mountains. I was so surprised that I ran to see what it was. A young girl, sitting on the lawn, was lost in playing her guitar. She was a beautiful girl, especially when the wind blew her long hair. I had never seen her before. The music was so attractive that I listened quietly.

Lost in the music, I did not realize that I had been standing for so long. But my existence did not seem to disturb her. Leaves were still falling. Every day when I passed by the lawn, I would see her playing her guitar. She was the only performer and I was the only audience. During the rest of the days in the season, life became interesting and I could review the courses carefully. Though we did not know each other, I thought we were always good friends.

Autumn was nearly over. One day, when I was listening devotedly, the sound suddenly stopped. To my astonishment, the girl came over to me.

“You must like the music.” she said.

“Yes, you play very well. Why did you stop?” I asked.

Suddenly, a sad expression appeared on her face.

“I came here just to have a rest because I failed in the college entrance examination. I felt very disappointed. And it was your listening every day that encouraged me,” she said, “and I have to go tomorrow.”

“In fact, it was your playing that gave me a meaningful autumn and helped me believe that I have the ability to pass the Postgraduate Entrance Examination.” I answered, “I think it was God who gave us the chance to know each other and we should be good friends.”

She smiled and I smiled.

Since then, I have never seen her again. I no longer passed by that lawn. Only thick leaves were left behind. But I will always remember the season and the girl. It was her appearance that helped me passed the Postgraduate Entrance Examination, though she only appeared a few days in my life.