关于春天的英语散文：春天的承诺

关于春天的英语散文：春天的承诺

　　A Promise of Spring

　　Early in the spring, about a month before my grandpa's stroke, I began walking for an hour every afternoon. Some days I would walk four blocks south to see Grandma and Grandpa. At eighty-six, Grandpa was still quite a gardener, so I always watched for his earliest blooms and each new wave of spring flowers.

　　I was especially interested in flowers that year because I was planning to landscape my own yard and I was eager to get Grandpa's advice. I thought I knew pretty much what I wanted — a yard full of bushes and plants that would bloom from May till November.

　　It was right after the first rush of purple violets in the lawns and the sudden blaze of forsythia that spring that Grandpa had a stroke. It left him without speech and with no movement on his left side. The whole family rallied to Grandpa. We all spent many hours by his side. Some days his eyes were eloquent — laughing at our reported mishaps, listening alertly, revealing painful awareness of his inability to care for himself. There were days, too, when he slept most of the time, overcome with the weight of his approaching death.

　　As the months passed, I watched the growing earth with Grandpa's eyes. Each time I was with him, I gave him a garden report. He listened, gripping my hand with the sure strength and calm he had always had. But he could not answer my questions. The new flowers would blaze, peak, fade, and die before I knew their names.

　　Grandpa's illness held him through the spring and on, week by week, through summer. I began spending hours at the local nursery, studying and choosing seeds and plants. It gave me special joy to buy plants I had seen in Grandpa's garden and give them humble starts in my own garden. I discovered Sweet William, which I had admired for years in Grandpa's garden without knowing its name. And I planted it in his honor.

　　As I waited and watched in the garden and by Grandpa's side, some quiet truths emerged. I realized that Grandpa loved flowers that were always bloom; he kept a full bed of roses in his garden. But I noticed that Grandpa left plenty of room for the brief highlights. Not every nook of his garden was constantly in bloom. There was always a treasured surprise tucked somewhere.

　　I came to see, too, that Grandpa's garden mirrored his life. He was a hard worker who understood the law of the harvest. But along with his hard work, Grandpa knew how to enjoy each season, each change. We often teased him about his life history. He had written two paragraphs summarizing fifty years of work, and a full nine pages about every trip and vacation he'd ever taken.

　　In July, Grandpa worsened. One hot afternoon arrived when no one else was at his bedside. He was glad to have me there, and reached out his hand to pull me close.

　　I told Grandpa what I had learned — that few flowers last from April to November. Some of the most beautiful bloom for only a month at most. To really enjoy a garden, you have to plant corners and drifts and rows of flowers that will bloom and grace the garden, each in its own season.

　　His eyes listened to every word. Then, another discovery: "If I want a garden like yours, Grandpa, I'm going to have to work." His grin laughed at me, and his eyes teased me.

　　"Grandpa, in your life right now the chrysanthemums are in bloom. Chrysanthemums and roses." Tears clouded both our eyes. Neither of us feared this last flower of fall, but the wait for spring seems longest in November. We knew how much we would miss each other.

　　Sitting there, I suddenly felt that the best gift I could give Grandpa would be to give voice to the testimony inside both of us. He had never spoken of his testimony to me, but it was such a part of his life that I had never questioned if Grandpa knew. I knew he knew.

　　"Grandpa," I began — and his grip tightened as if he knew what I was going to say — "I want you to know that I have a testimony. I know the Savior lives. I bear witness to you that Joseph Smith is a prophet. I love the Restoration and joy in it." The steadiness in Grandpa's eyes told how much he felt it too. "I bear witness that President Kimball is a prophet. I know the Book of Mormon is true, Grandpa. Every part of me bears this witness."

　　"Grandpa," I added quietly, "I know our Father in Heaven loves you." Unbidden, unexpected, the Spirit bore comforting, poignant testimony to me of our Father's love for my humble, quiet Grandpa.

　　A tangible sense of Heavenly Father's compassionate awareness of Grandpa's suffering surrounded us and held us. It was so personal and powerful that no words were left to me — only tears of gratitude and humility, tears of comfort.

　　Grandpa and I wept together.

　　It was the end of August when Grandpa died, the end of summer. As we were choosing flowers from the florist for Grandpa's funeral, I slipped away to Grandpa's garden and walked with my memories of columbine and Sweet William. Only the tall lavender and white phlox were in bloom now, and some baby's breath in another corner.

　　On impulse, I cut the prettiest strands of phlox and baby's breath and made one more arrangement for the funeral. When they saw it, friends and family all smiled to see Grandpa's flowers there. We all felt how much Grandpa would have liked that.

　　The October after Grandpa's death, I planted tulip and daffodil bulbs, snowdrops, crocuses, and bluebells. Each bulb was a comfort to me, a love sent to Grandpa, a promise of spring.

　　早春时节，大约在爷爷中风前的一个月，我开始每天下午散步一个小时。有些日子，我会步行向南穿过四个街区去看望爷爷奶奶。八十六岁的爷爷仍然是一个杰出的花匠，因此我总是观察着他最早盛开的花，以及一片又一片春的花海。

　　那年，我打算把自己的小院美化一下，因此对花特别感兴趣，期望能够得到爷爷的指导。我以为自己知道究竟需要什么——满院子花草树木，从五月一直开到十一月。

　　那年春天，就是在草坪里第一丛紫罗兰和突然盛开的鲜艳连翘出现后，爷爷得了中风。他嘴巴不能说话了，身体的左半部分也不能动。家里所有人都来看望爷爷，我们都花了大量的时间陪在他身边。有几天，他眼睛很有神——笑我们所汇报来的不幸，听我们说话也很机警，并说他不能料理自己心里感觉很痛苦。有时候，他一整天都出在睡眠的状态，而且体重也有所增加，随时可能有生命危险。

　　随着时间的推移，几个月过去了。我像爷爷一样望着地上长出来的东西。每次我和他在一起，我都要向他汇报一下花园的情况。他一边听着，一边用平静地用他一贯的力量紧握着我的手。然而，他无法回答我的问题。因此，很多花朵绽放、憔悴、凋谢和死亡，我甚至都不知道他们的名字。

　　从春季开始，爷爷就一直受疾病的折磨，一直持续到夏季。我开始料理当地的苗圃，研究选择种子和植株。我买了些曾在爷爷的花园里见过的树木，尽心尽力地种在了我自己的花园里，这给我带来很特别的快乐。我在爷爷的花园里发现了我喜欢多年的美洲石竹，以前一直不知道它的名字，现在我以爷爷的名誉栽下了它。

　　当我守护在爷爷身边的时候，一些真理静静地涌现。我知道爷爷深爱着那些繁盛的花草;在他的花园里，他种了一苗圃的玫瑰。不过，我也发现爷爷留了很多空地方，只为了能够让光线照进来。花园里并不是每个角落都经常有花开放，但总有一个接一个的惊喜从某个地方冒出来。

　　我也发现爷爷的花园是他一生的真实写照。他是一个勤劳的工人，他理解收获的规律。但是说起他的辛勤劳动，他又是一个知道如何享受四季和变化的人，我们经常拿他的过去开玩笑。他写了两段文字概述了他五十年的工作。其中，足足有九页文字记载的是他的每次旅行和假期。

　　七月，爷爷的病情恶化了。有一天下午天气很炎热，没有人在爷爷身边。只有我在，他很高兴，就伸出他的手把我抱得紧紧的。

　　我把我所学到的告诉了爷爷——很少有花能从五月开到十一月，绝大多部分花最多开一个月。为了真正达到欣赏花园的目的，你必须在每个角落都种上花，丛丛花儿开放，把花园装扮得非常漂亮，每个角落都有四季。

　　他用眼睛认真地倾听着我的每句话，另一个发现是：“爷爷，如果我想要我的花园像你的花园话，我必须去工作。”他对着我笑，漏出了牙齿，眼神也在嬉笑我。

　　“爷爷，现在菊花正在开放，菊花和玫瑰花都在开放。”我们俩的眼里都盈满了泪花，我们都不害怕最后一朵花凋谢，但在十一月等待春天未免有点太长了，我们都知道我们会非常想念对方的。

　　我坐在那里，突然感到我能给爷爷的最好礼物是说出我们之间的承诺。他从来没有对我说起他的承诺，但我从来没有质疑过的就是他人生中的这一部分，如果爷爷知道的话。我知道他所知道的。

　　“爷爷，”我开始说——他嘴唇紧闭，好像知道我要说什么似的——“我想要你知道我有一个承诺。我知道救世主是存在的，我向你作证约瑟夫•史密斯是个预言家。我爱王政复辟时代，也很希望能加入它。”爷爷坚定的眼神也告诉了我他也有如此强烈的感受。“我向你作证金博尔总统是一个预言家。爷爷，我知道《魔门经》是真的，我拿整个人来向你作证。”

　　“爷爷，”我语气平和地又说了一句，“我知道我们的上帝是爱你的。”我爷爷地位卑微，但人很平和，我不假思索地意外地想到这种精神给我带来了上帝对爷爷的热爱。

　　上帝对爷爷所遭受的苦难表示了很大的同情，这种意识一直环绕和支持着我们。这种自我意识是如此有力，以至我无法用语言将其描述——只有感恩和谦恭，还有安慰的泪水。

　　爷爷和我都流下了眼泪。

　　八月底，也是夏季即将过去的时候，爷爷还是走了。当大家在花店为爷爷的葬礼选择葬花时，我悄悄地离开来到爷爷的花园。走在花园里，回忆着那些耧斗菜和美洲石竹，现在只有熏衣草和白色夹竹桃在开花，另一个角落里还开放着一些满天星。

　　一时心血来潮，我把最漂亮的几束夹竹桃和满天星剪了下来，给爷爷葬礼增添了一份装扮。看到这些花的时候，亲友们都因为看到爷爷的花而露出微笑。我们都知道爷爷一定会很喜欢那些花儿的。

　　在爷爷去世后的十月，我种了一些郁金香、水仙、雪花莲、番红花及蓝铃花。每一个花苞对我来说都是一种安慰，都是给爷爷的一份爱，都是春天的一份承诺。