The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
-Robert Frost
路边一只乌鸦
在我上方抖翅
雪尘
从铁杉树上飘落
我的心情
因这雪尘而豁然
并且赶走了一部分
我今日的懊丧
-罗伯特·弗罗斯特
Ripples
涟漪
By Swift Flame Anderson
A Shaman sat quietly by thepool just outside his village with ayoung boy. The air was still and thesurface of the pool was calm andmirror-like，reflecting a blue skyflecked with a few white clouds. Forsome time they did not speak. Aftera few moments the Shaman pickedup a small stone and tossed it into thecentre of the pool，causing ripples toradiate out towards the shore.
“Do you see the ripples？” the Shaman asked the boy.
“Yes，of course，I see them clearly，” the boy answered eagerly. He recognized a tone inthe Shaman’s voice and eagerly anticipated what he was going to say next.
“Are they real？” the Shaman asked further.
“Yes，they are real. I can see them with my own eyes，” the boy answered.
“Does that mean they are real？” asked the Shaman once more. He reached for a bowlwhich lay on the ground by his side. “Take this bowl，” he said to the boy. “Take it and fetchme some ripples. Bring them to me.”
The boy took the bowl in his hand. Feelinga little foolish，he went down to the water’s edgeand tried to scoop up some ripples in the bowl.
Then he returned to the Shaman’s side.
“Did you get them？” the Shaman asked. Theboy held out the bowl for the Shaman to see.
“Where are the ripples？” he asked.
“I cannot collect ripples in a bowl，” the boy protested.
“Why not？” the Shaman asked. “You just said that they were real. You can see them withyour own eyes. What is it that you have collected？”
“It is some water，master，” the boy answered. The Shaman picked up a small stick anddipped the end of it in the centre of the bowl of water，once again causing ripples to radiateout towards its edges.
“Do you see the ripples？” he asked the boy once more.
“Yes，I see them，” the boy confirmed.
“Are they real？” the Shaman asked for the second time. This time the boy remainedsilent. The Shaman waited a few moments before speaking again，allowing the boy tocontemplate.
“On the surface you may see many dancing patterns，but always remember the substancein which the patterns dance，” the Shaman finally said. The boy looked out over the pond，where the ripples had now died down and the clear blue sky was once more reflected.
Lane 译
一名巫师和一个小男孩安静地坐在那个正好位于村外的池塘边。池塘风平浪静，就像一面镜子，倒映着飘荡着几片白云的蓝天。他们沉默了一阵，过了一会儿，巫师拾起了一块小石头扔进池塘中央，惊起了层层涟漪，朝着岸边荡漾开来。
“你看到那层层涟漪了吗？”巫师问男孩。
晚安，永远美好的明天 057“当然看到了，我清清楚楚地看见了。”男孩急切地回答。他听出巫师声音中的语气，急切地想知道他接下来会说些什么。
“它们是真实的吗？”巫师进一步问他。
“是的，它们是真实的。我可以亲眼看见它们。”男孩回答。
“那就意味它们是真实的吗？”巫师又问了一次。他伸手去拿位于他旁边放在地上的碗。“把那个碗拿过来，”他对男孩说，“端着它去给我取一些涟漪回来。
把它们给我带过来。”
男孩用手端着那只碗，当他走到池塘并试图用碗舀取涟漪时，他觉得自己有点愚蠢。然后，他又回到巫师的身旁。
“你取到涟漪了吗？”巫师问。男孩把碗拿出来给巫师看。
“涟漪在哪儿？”巫师问。
“我没法用碗收集涟漪。”男孩申辩道。
“为什么不能？”巫师问，“你刚才还说它们都是真实的呢。你能亲眼看到它们，那你收集的这些是什么呢？”
“这是一些水，师父。”男孩回答。
巫师拾起一根小木棍，将其另一头浸入那只盛了水的碗中间，再次惊起了层层涟漪，向碗沿荡漾开来。
“你看到了这些涟漪了吗？”他又问了男孩一次。
“是的，我看到它们了。”男孩确信地回答。
“它们是真实的吗？”巫师第二次问道。这次，男孩保持沉默了。巫师让男孩思考一下，等了片刻才说话。
“你可以在表面上看到跳动的涟漪，但你要永远记住形成跳动的涟漪的物质。”巫师最后说。男孩望向池塘，池塘上的涟漪如今已经消失了，水面再次倒映出晴朗湛蓝的天空。
轻英语
《生活大爆炸》小短句
Poser！ 耍大牌！
Playing with fire. 找死。
Nerd！ 书呆子！
You just don’t appreciate it. 不识抬举。
How did it come to this？ 怎么搞的？
Lucky bastard！ 狗屎运！
Same difference. 半斤八两。
Don’t play innocent！ 别装蒜！
Stingy bastard！ 小气鬼！
That’s rubbish！ 胡扯！
Dance in a Toll Booth
收费站里的舞蹈
Late one morning in 1984，headed for lunch in San Francisco，I drove toward one of the booths. Iheard loud music. It sounded like aparty，or a Michael Jackson concert.
I looked around. No other cars withtheir windows open. No soundtrucks. I looked at the toll booth.
Inside it，the man was dancing.
“What are you doing？” I asked.
“I’m having a party，” he said.
“What about the rest of these people？” Ilooked over at other booths； nothing moving there.
“They’re not invited.”
I had a dozen other questions for him，but somebody in a big hurry to get somewherestarted punching his horn behind me and I drove off. But I made a note to myself： Find thisguy again. There’s something in his eye that says there’s magic in his toll booth.
Months later I did find him again，still with the loud music，still having a party.
Again I asked，“What are you doing？”
He said，“I remember you from the last time. I’m still dancing. I’m having the sameparty.”
I said，“Look. What about the rest of the people？”
“Stop，” He said. “What do those look like to you？” He pointed downthe row of toll booths.
“They look like tool booths.”
“Nooooo imagination！’
I said，“Okay，I give up. What do they look like to you？”
He said，“Vertical coffins.”
“What are you talking about？”
“I can prove it. At 8：30 every morning，live people get in. Then theydie for eight hours. At 4：30，like Lazarus from the dead，they reemergeand go home. For eight hours，brain is on hold，dead on the job. Goingthrough the motions.”
I was amazed. This guy had developed a philosophy，a mythologyabout his job. I could not help asking the next question： “Why is itdifferent for you？ You’re having a good time.”
He looked at me. “I knew you were going to ask that，“he said. “I’mgoing to be a dancer someday.” He pointed to the administration building.
“My bosses are in there，and they’re paying for my training.”
Sixteen people dead on the job，and the seventeenth，in precisely thesame situation，figures out a way to live. That man was having a partywhere you and I would probably not last three days. The boredom！ He andI did have lunch later，and he said，“I don’t understand why anybody would think my job isboring. I have a corner office，glass on all sides. I can see the Golden Gate，San Francisco，theBerkeley hills； half the Western world vacations here and I just stroll in every day and practicedancing.”
1984年的一个上午，很晚了，我驱车去旧金山吃午饭，开到一个收费亭旁边，我听到很响的音乐声。听起来好像在开舞会，或是迈克尔·杰克逊的音乐会。我朝四周看了看，别的汽车都没有打开窗户，也没有宣传车。我朝收费亭里望去，有个人正在里边跳舞。
“你在干吗？”我问。
“我在开舞会呢。”他说。
“那其他人呢？”我看了看其他的亭子，没什么动静。
“我没邀请他们。”
我还有十几个问题要问他，但我后面的人急着要去某地，开始按喇叭，我只好开走了。但我在心里告诉自己：还要再找这个人。他眼里有某种东西告诉我，在他的收费亭里有一种魔力。
几个月后我的确又见到了他，音乐仍然很响，舞会还在举行。
我再次问他：“你在做什么呢？”
他说：“我记得你上次问过了。我还在跳舞，还在举行同样的舞会。”
我说：“瞧，其他人呢？”
“打住，”他说，“你看那些东西像什么呢？”他指着那排收费亭。
“看来就像收费亭啊。”
“真是没有想象力！”
我说：“那好，我放弃。你看它们像什么呢？”
他说：“直立的棺材。”
“你在说些什么呀？”
“我可以证实。每早八点半，活的人进去，然后他们死亡八个小时。下午四点半，就像死人中的拉撒路，他们复活，回到家中。整整八个小时，头脑思维中断，他们只是呆板地工作，重复着相同的动作。”
我感到非常惊异。这个小伙子发展了一种哲学，创造了一个有关工作的神话。
我禁不住又问了一个问题：“为什么你不一样？你过得很快乐。”
他看了看我，“我就知道你会问这个，”他接着说，“总有一天我会成为一个舞蹈家。”他指向行政大楼：“我的老板都在那里，他们花钱为我培训。”
