博炮作文网

第9部分（第2页）

Hal　Borland

September　is　more　than　a　month；　really；　it　is　a　season；　an　achievement　in　itself。　It　begins　with　August’s　leftovers　and　itends　with　October’s　preparations；　but　along　the　way　it　achieves　special　satisfactions。　After　summer’s　heat　and　haste；　the　year　consolidates　itself。　Deliberate　September—in　its　own　time　and　tempo—begins　to　sum　up　another　summer。

With　September　es　a　sense　of　autumn。　It　creeps　in　ona　misty　dawn　and　vanishes　in　the　hot　afternoon。　It　tiptoes　through　the　treetops。　rouging　a　few　leaves；　then　rides　a　tuft　of　thistledown　across　the　valley　and　away。　It　sits　on　a　hill　top　and　hoots　like　an　October　owl　in　the　dusk。　It　plays　tag　with　the　wind。　September　is　a　changeling；　busy　as　a　squirrel　in　a　hickory　tree；　idle　as　a　languid　brook。　It　is　summer’s　ripen　and　richness　fulfilled。

Some　of　the　rarest　days　of　the　year　e　in　the　September　season—days　when　it　is　fortably　cool　but　pulsing　with　life；　when　the　sky　is　clear　and　clean；　the　air　crisp；　the　wind　free　of　dust。　Meadows　still　smell　of　hay　and　the　sweetness　of　cut　grass。　September　flowers　are　less　varied　than　those　of　May　but　so　abundant　that　they　make　September　another　flowery　month。　Goldenrod　es　by　mid…August；　but　rises　to　a　peak　of　golden　abundance　inearly　September。　Late　thistles　make　spectacular　purple　accents。　And　asters“blossom　everywhere；　along　the　rcadsides；　in　meadows；　on　the　hilltops；　even　in　city　lots；　ranging　in　color　from　pure　whitethrough　all　degrees　of　lavender　to　the　royal　New　England　purpie。”

We　think　of　spring　as　the　miracle　time；　when　opening　bud　and　new　leaf　proclaim　the　persistence　of　life。　But　September　is　when　the　abiding　wonder　makes　itself　known　in　a　subtler　way。　Now　growth　es　to　annual　fruition；　and　preparations　are　pleted　for　another　year；　another　generation。　The　acorn　“ripens　and　the　hickory　nut　matures。　The　plant　mits　its　future　to　the　seed　and　the　root。　The　insect　stows　tomorrow　in　the　egg　and　the　pupa。　The　surge　is　almost　over　and　lire　begins　to　relax。

甜美的九月（3）

The　green　prime　is　passing。　The　trees　begin　to　proclaim　the　change。　Soon　the　leaves　will　be　discarded；　the　grass　will　sere。　But　the　miracle　of　life　persists；　the　mysterious　germ　of　growth　and　renewal　that　is　the　seed　itself。

This　is　gossamer　season。　Dawn　shimmers　with　spider　filaments；　proof　that　late　hatches　of　spiderlings　have　the　instinct　to　travel。　On　such　gossamer　strands　tiny　spiders　have　traveled　into　the　Arctic　and　almost　to　the　summits　of　the　Himalayas。　Soon　milkweed　pods　will　open　with　their　silver　floss。

This　is　the　season　of　the　harvest　moon。　With　reasonably　clear　skies　it　will　be　a　moonlit　week；　for　the　harvest　moon　is　nothasty；　it　es　early　and　stays　late。　There　was　a　time　when　the　busy　farmer　could　return　to　the　fields　after　supper　and　continue　his　harvest　by　moonlight。　There’s　still　harvesting　to　be　done；　but　much　of　it　now　centers　on　the　kitchen　rather　than　the　barns。　The　last　bountiful　yield　es　from　the　garden；　the　late　sweet　corn；　the　tomatoes；　the　root　vegetables。　The　canning；　the　preserving；　the　freezing；　the　kitchen　harvest　in　all　its　variety；　reaches　its　peak。

First　frost　es　in　the　night；　a　clear；　scant…starred　night　when　the　moon　is　near　its　fullness。　It　es　without　a　whisper；　quiet　as　thistle　down；　brushing　the　corner　of　a　hillside　garden。　Dawn　es　and　you　see　its　path—the　glistening　leaf；　the　gleaming　stem；　the　limp；　blackening　garden　vine。

Another　night　or　two　the　frost　walks　the　valleys　in　the　moonlight。　Then　it　goes　back　beyond　the　northern　hills　to　wait　a　little　longer；　and　the　golden　mildness　of　early　autumn　forts　the　land。　A　faint　anise　smell　is　on　the　air；　goldenrod　scent。　The　mistswirls　and　September　shines　through；　the　deep…blue　sky　of　September。

To　warm…blooded　creatures；　the　crisp；　cool　nights　of　September　are　invigorating。　But　cold…blooded　insects　are　at　the　mercy　of　the　sun　and　now　their　clocks　run　down。　The　cicada　is　stilled。　The　chorus　of　the　cricket　and　katydid　diminishes。　When　they　rash　at　all　it　is　with　the　deliberate　tempo　of　a　fiddler　drawing　a　worn　bow　across　fraying　strings。

Now　e　the　hoarding　days。　Mice　have　been　harvesting　and　stowing　seeds　for　weeks。　The　chipmunk　lines　his　winter　bedroom；　and　squirrel　hide　the　nut　trees；　bounty。　The　woodchucks；　gorging　on　grass　and　clover　and　fruit；　lay　up　their　harvest　inbody　fat　under　their　own　skins。

The　flickers　begin　to　gather　for　migration。　All　summer　these　big　woodpeckers　were　resolutely　individual；　busy　with　family　life　and　wanting　no　pany。　Now　they　are　gregarious；　with　time　for　tribal　gossip　and　munity　play。　The　warblers　and　swallow　shave　already　formed　in　premigration　flocks；　soon　the　robins　will　be　gathering　too。　Nesting　is　pleted；　fledglings　are　on　their　own；　and　there　is　food　in　plenty。　September　is　vacation　time　for　birds。　Who　knows　but　that　they　are　discussing　the　trip　ahead？

By　September’s　end　the　treasure　chest　of　autumn　begins　to　spill　over　with　wealth。　You　see　it　glowing　in　the　quiet　afternoon；　aflame　in　the　sunset。　Woodland；　roadside　and　dooryard　will　soon　be　jeweled　beyond　a　rajah’s　richest　dreams。

The　year’s　season　in　the　sun　has　run　its　course。　Nature　begins　to　prepare　for　winter。　After　the　color　in　the　woodlands。　the　leaves　will　blanket　the　soil。　The　litter　of　autumn　will　bee　much；　then　humus　for　root　and　tender　seed。　The　urgency　of　growth　is　ended　for　another　year；　but　life　itself　is　hoarded　in　root　and　bulb　and　seed　and　egg。

婚姻、爱与自由（1）

佚名

你问：“婚姻和自由，二者可以兼得吗？”

如果把婚姻看得轻松一些，你就可以获得自由；如果以严肃的态度来看待婚姻，你绝对不可能获得自由。把婚姻当作一场游戏，它就是一场游戏。人要有一点幽默感，那只是你在生命的舞台上扮演的一个角色，它既不属于存在的范畴，也不具有真实性——它只是一个虚构的事物。

然而，人们居然愚昧地把虚构当成了现实。我看到虚构的悲剧小说故事能让读者流泪。在电影院，关掉灯是一个很好的办法，那样人们就会陶醉在电影之中，然后哭泣、欢笑、快乐和伤心。然而，人们在开着灯的时候就很难做到了，因为其他人会作何感想呢？他们彻彻底底地忘记了现实，他们也非常清楚，屏幕中没有人，那是空的，只是投影下的图像。

同样的事情也发生在我们的生活之中。很多?