Springs are not always the same. In some years, April bursts upon Virginia hills in one prodigious¹ leap and all the stage is filled at once, whole choruses of tulips, arabesques² of forsythia, cadenzas of flowering plum. The trees grow leaves overnight.

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。

In other years, spring tiptoes in. It pauses, overcome by shyness, like my grandchild at the door, peeping in, ducking out of sight, giggling³ in the hallway. “I know you’re out there,” I cry. “Come in!” And April slips into our arms.

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怀中。

The dogwood bud, pale green, is inlaid with russet markings. Within the perfect cup a score of clustered seeds are nestled. One examines the bud in awe⁴: Where were those seeds a month ago? The apples display their milliner’s scraps⁵ of ivory silk, rose-tinged. All the sleeping things wake up primrose⁶, baby iris⁷, blue phlox. The earth warms you can smell it, feel it, crumble⁸ April in your hands.

山茱的花骨朵儿嫩绿嫩绿的，镶着赤褐色的花边。在那漂亮的花萼里，竟稳稳地簇拥着十几颗小种子。我们不禁要惊羡地问一句：一个月前这些种子还在哪儿呢？苹果树则像卖帽人，向人们展示他帽子上那一片片微带点玫瑰红地乳白色丝缎。所有熟睡的都醒了――樱草花、小蝴蝶花、蓝夹竹桃。大地也暖和起来了――你可以闻到四月的气息，感觉到它那股馨香，把它捧在手中赏玩。

Look to the rue⁹ anemone¹⁰, 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 serene¹¹ certainty of spring recurring¹², who can fear the distant fall?

去看看白头翁花，如果你愿意，再去看看豌豆畦，或是那倔强地手臂伸过城市街道的野花。它们从前是这样，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？