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第37章 让心灵去旅行13（第1页）

第37章让心灵去旅行（13）

Wesleep，ahawaketothestillrealityofawinterm。Thesnowlieswarmasordownuponthewindowsill；thebroadenedsashandfrostedpaadima，whiugcheerwithiillhemisimpressive。Thefloorderourfeetaswemovetotolookabrhsomeclearspaceoverthefields，weseetheroofsstaheirsheeavesaalactitesofsnow，aandstalagmitesgsomecealedcore。Thetreesandshrubsrearwhitearmstotheskyoneveryside；andallsandfeastisstretfrolicgambolsacrosstheduskylandscape，asifrewnherfreshdesighefieldsbynightasmodelsforman’sart。

&lyweunlatchthedthedriftfallin，andstepabroadtofacethegair。Alreadythestarshavelostsomeoftheirsparkle，andadull，leadenmistskirtsthehorizon。Aluridbrazenlightiproclaimstheapproachofday，whiletheeisdimaill，andasomberTartareanlight，liketheshadowyrealms。Theyareinfernalsoundsonlythatyouhear—thegofcocks，thebarkingofdogs，thegofwood，thelowingofkioPluto’sbarnyardaheStyx—notforanymela，buttheirtwilightbustleistoosolemnandmysteriousforearth。Therettracksofthefoxorotter，intheyard，remindusthateachhourofthenightiscrowdedwithevents，andtheprimevalillwandmakingtratheshegate，wetreadbrisklyalongtheloryrthedryandowunderourfeet，orarousedbythesharp，clearcreakofthewoodsled，juststartimarket，fromtheearlyfarmer’sdoor，whereithaslainthesummerlamidthedstubble；whilefarthroughthedriftsandpoeseethefarmer’searlydle，likeapaledstar，emittingalonelybeam，asifsomeseverevirtuewereatitsmatinsthere。Ahesmokesbegiheeysamidthetreesandsnows。

&hesoundofwoodgatthefarmers’doors，faroverthefrozehebayingofthehouse-dog，aofthecock—thoughthethinandfrostyairlythefiiclesofsoundtoourears，withshortaions，asthewavessubsidesoohepurestaliquids，inwhichgrosssubstaothebottom。Theyedbell-like，andfromagreaterdistahehorizons，asiftherewerefewerimpedimentsthaomakethemfaintahegroundissonorous，likeseasonedwood，aheordinaryruralsoundsaremelodious，andthejinglihetreesissweetandliquid。Thereistheleastpossiblemoistureimosphere，allbeingdriedupealed，anditisofsuchextremetenuityaythatitbeesasourceofdelight。Thewithdrawnandtenseskyseemsgroiheaislesofacathedral，andthepolishedairsparklesasiftherewerecrystalsofiginit。Astheywhohaveresidediellusthatwheheseasmokeslikeburningturf-land，andafogormistarises，oke，”whigsmokefrequeersonthefads，andisverypernicioustothehealth。”Butthispure，stingingelixirtothelungs，andnotsomuistasacrystallizedmidsummerhaze，refinedandpurifiedbycold。

。。。

Iureisaetofcuriosities，fullofdriedspetheirnaturalorderandposition。Themeadowsasareahortussiccus。Theleavesaalypressedbytheairwithum，andthebird’shungonanartificialtwig，butwheretheybuiltthem。

Butnoehaveloitered，thecloudshavegatheredagain，aragglingsnowflakesarebeginningtodesd。Fasteraheyfall，shuttiht。Thesnowfallsoneverywoodandfield，andnocreviceisfotten；bytheriverandthepond，onthehillandinthevalley。Quadrupedsareedtotheirdthebirdssitupohispeacefulhour。Thereisnotsomudasiher，butsilentlyandgraduallyeveryslope，andthegraywallsahepolishedidthesereleaves，whiotburiedbefore，aredthetraesarelost。Withsolittleeffortdoesherruleandblotoutthetraen。HearhowHomerhasdescribedthesame：“Theshidfastonawinter’sday。Thewindsarelulled，andthesnowfallsi，gthetopsofthemountains，andthehills，andtheplaiustreegrows，aedfields，andtheyarefallisahefoamiaresilentlydissolvedbythewaves。”Theshings，andinfoldsthemdeeperinthebosomofnature，as，inthesletatiootheeemple，asofthedhelpshertoprevailoverart。

微风缓缓地吹着百叶窗，吹在窗上，非常温柔，像羽毛似的，偶尔也会犹如几声叹息，听起来像夏日漫漫长夜里风轻抚着树叶的声音。在铺着草皮的地下，田鼠正在地洞里呼呼大睡，猫头鹰则在沼泽地深处的一棵空心树里蹲着，兔子、松鼠、狐狸都待在家里。看门的狗静静地躺在暖炉旁，牛羊在栏圈里悄无声息。连大地都在沉睡——但这不是寿终正寝，而是忙碌一年后第一次美美地睡上一觉。夜已经深了，大自然还在忙碌着，只有街上一些招牌或小木屋的门轴不时嘎吱嘎吱地响，给沉寂的大自然带来一点慰藉。也只有这些声音，预示着在茫茫宇宙中，在金星和火星之间，天地万物还有一些是清醒的。我们想起了看似遥远却也许近在心中的“温暖感觉”，还有那些只有天神们在相聚时才能感受到的——一种神圣的鼓舞和难得的交情，而这些对于凡人是不胜苍凉的。大地此刻在酣睡，可是空气还很活跃，鹅毛大雪漫天飞舞，好像是一个北方的五谷女神，正在把她的银种子撒在我们的田野上。

我们也进入了梦乡，等到醒来时，恰是冬季的早晨。世界静悄悄的，雪下了厚厚的一层。窗棂上像铺了柔软的棉花或羽绒，窗格子显得宽了些，玻璃上爬满了冰纹，看起来黯淡而神秘，使家里变得更加温馨舒适。早晨的寂静真令人难忘。我们踏着吱吱作响的地板来到窗口前，站在一块没有结冰的地方，眺望田野风景。屋顶被皑皑的白雪覆盖着，雪冻成的冰条挂在屋檐下和栅栏上；院子里的雪柱像竹笋一样立着，雪柱里有没有藏着什么东西，就无从知晓了；树木和灌木向四面八方伸展着它们白色的枝干；原来是墙壁和篱笆的地方，形态更加奇妙，在昏暗的大地上，它们向左右延伸，似乎在跳跃。仿佛一夜的工夫，大自然就重新设计了一幅田野美景，供人类的艺术家来临摹。