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初雪 文/吉丽安·道格拉斯

作者: 慢一点 发布: 2013-9-12 分类: 朴素观点 阅读: 次 查看评论

一天晚上,我从我隐居的小木屋朝窗外望去,只见柔软的雪花正慢悠悠地飘进金色的灯光之中。雪下了整整一夜,奔腾的梯尔河渐渐沉寂,森林的喧嚣也慢慢消失。到黎明时分,那溪流、树林和山峰的世界已被积雪覆盖闪着一片美丽的白光。

我一大清早便来到星外。 整个大千世界是如此安谧, 甚至连轻微的呼吸也会破坏这宁静。 北边的山岭披上了铁灰色的素装,西边的天空还残留着朦胧夜色;而在东方,在南方,一片淡淡的粉红色正在蔓延。我抬头仰望,只见闪着银光的晨星正俯瞰着这个白茫茫的世界。

不一会儿,万里晴空已是一片火红。严寒和寂静重压在每棵树的枝头,每根残枝断桩都 戴上了水晶王冠,根根被伐倒在地的原木披上了厚厚的银装。野浆果树丛的枝条问,随处可见泛 着珠光宝气的白粉蘑菇;铁杉和雪松光秃秃的树根,也成了石英与橄榄石砌成的洞穴。

一场大雪之后,最可爱的要算是常绿树木。它们缀满白雪的粗大树枝低垂在树干周围, 使它们看上去就像只只正合拢翅膀抵御严寒的巨鸟。

但在一场小雪之后,最美的就要数那些落叶树了。它们是那样脆弱,那样缥缈,像透明 的烟雾沿着河岸飘动, 仿佛潺潺水声也会把它们震碎似的。 低矮的灌木丛犹如银丝织成的工艺品, 在这个令人陶醉的世界里,它们是那么轻盈,那么小心地踞起脚尖,哪怕是一阵最轻柔的微风也104 会把微微闪光的雪花从它们身上吹落,留下些赤裸裸的褐色枝条惹人怜惜。

此刻,天空已是一片湛蓝:,太阳把千万颗宝石撒在草地上,撒在河流旁,撒在树林问。 美,这位纯洁的少女,静静地在这里漫步,没在这无瑕的雪地上留下丝毫痕迹。静,是这般浓重, 这般深沉,连松鼠都停止了它们不合时宜的喧闹,雪鸟微弱的啼鸣似乎也在加重这片寂静。

夜幕降临,天地间依然万籁俱寂。面对这样的季节,我心中油然生出一种独特的感情, 一种舒适、安宁而又孤独的感情。置身室外的严寒中令人怡然, 那严寒让人头脑清醒,心情振奋。 回到屋里让绒毯般松软的温暖包裹全身,那种感觉也同样令人愉快。炉火足人最好的伙伴,咖啡 发出浓烈的香味,暗影在墙上翩跹起舞,而窗外的世界又是那般宁静。能在冬日世界的清幽明净 中开始并结束这样的一天,我感到非常满足。

窗外,月亮高高挂在深蓝色的天幕上,天幕下是银色的山峦、森林和平川。树木、灌丛 和高大的蕨树像是用雪花石膏雕成。河水像水银流淌在陶瓷般的河岸之间。

大地和天空都在闪闪发光,厥草从恍若别在银色大地上的旭日形钻石胸针。但一切都沉 浸在静寂之中。星星投下影子,它们在深夜的蓝天里白得耀眼,好像真的在闪出凛凛寒光。我觉 得我仿佛能看见宇宙中的每一颗星星。

看来没人能面对这万千美景而不心碎。也许我心中的痛楚正是来自这样的意识:眼前的 美景实在太短促,我几乎才刚刚触摸到它,而它就要悄然逝去。

(曹明伦 译;《中国翻译》2002第五期)

 

原文如下:

First Snow
by Gilean Douglas

One evening I look out the window of my secluded cabin, and there are soft languid flakes falling in the golden lamplight. They fall all night, while the voice of the Teal River becomes more and more hushed and the noises of the forest die away. By dawn, the whole world of stream and wood and mountain has been kindled to a white flame of beauty.

I go out in the early morning and there is such silence that even breath is a profanation. The mountain to the north has a steel-blue light on it, and to the west the sky still holds something of the darkness of the night. To the east and the south a faint pink is spreading. I look up and see the morning star keeping white watch over a white world.

Soon the whole sky is azure and flaming. Every branch of every tree is weighted with cold and stillness; every stump is crowned with crystal; every fallen log is overlaid with silver. The wild berry bushes have puffballs of jeweler’s cotton here and there along their branches, and the stark roots of hemlocks and cedars have become grottoes of quartz and chrysolite.

After heavy snowfalls, it is the evergreens that are the loveliest, with their great white branches weighted down until they are almost parallel with the trunks. They seem like giant birds with their wings folded against the cold.

But after a light fall, it is the deciduous trees that are the most beautiful. They are so fragile, so ethereal, that it seems even the sound of the rivers might shatter them as they appear to drift like crystal smoke along the banks. The bushes are silver filigree, so light, so much on tiptoe in this enchanted world. Even the slightest breeze sends the snow shimmering down form them, leaving the branches brown and bare and rather pitiful.

The sky is clear blue now and the sun has flung diamonds down on meadow and bank and wood. Beauty, the virgin, walks here quietly, no sign upon the immaculate snow. The silence is dense and deep. Even the squirrels have stopped their ribald chattering. And faint snowbird whisperings seems to emphasize the stillness.

Night comes, and the silence holds. There is a feeling about this season that is in no other—a sense of snugness, security and solitude. It is good to be out in the bracing cold, which cleans the mind and invigorates the heart. It is equally good to come in and feel the warmth wrap around the body like a soft fluffy blanket. Fire is a first-rate companion. The coffee is full-bodied and fragrant; shadows dance on the walls and the world outside my windows is very still. I am more than content to begin and end a day like this amid all the calm clarity of wintered earth.

Outside the moon is high with a dark-blue sky behind it and with mountains, plains, and forests of silver lying below. The trees, the bushes and the tall ferns are carved with alabaster. The river runs like quicksilver between the porcelain of its banks.

Earth and heavens glitter, and the sword-fern clumps are diamond sunbursts pinned to the silver-sequined ground. But it is all in silence. There are shadows from the stars. They are white, sharp lights in the midnight blue sky and appear literally to spark with coldness. I feel as though I can see every star in the universe.

It seems impossible for one human heart to contain all this loveliness without breaking. Perhaps the ache that is in mine comes from the knowledge that all this beauty is so ephemeral, that it will be gone almost before I have done more than touch it with my fingertips.

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