關於春天的英語散文：春天的承諾

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.

早春時節，大約在爺爺中風前的一個月，我開始每天下午散步一個小時。有些日子，我會步行向南穿過四個街區去看望爺爺奶奶。八十六歲的爺爺仍然是一個傑出的花匠，因此我總是觀察着他最早盛開的花，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，因此對花特別感興趣，期望能夠得到爺爺的指導。我以爲自己知道究竟需要什麼——滿院子花草樹木，從五月一直開到十一月。

那年春天，就是在草坪裏第一叢紫羅蘭和突然盛開的鮮豔連翹出現後，爺爺得了中風。他嘴巴不能說話了，身體的左半部分也不能動。家裏所有人都來看望爺爺，我們都花了大量的時間陪在他身邊。有幾天，他眼睛很有神——笑我們所彙報來的不幸，聽我們說話也很機警，並說他不能料理自己心裏感覺很痛苦。有時候，他一整天都出在睡眠的狀態，而且體重也有所增加，隨時可能有生命危險。

隨着時間的推移，幾個月過去了。我像爺爺一樣望着地上長出來的東西。每次我和他在一起，我都要向他彙報一下花園的情況。他一邊聽着，一邊用平靜地用他一貫的力量緊握着我的手。然而，他無法回答我的問題。因此，很多花朵綻放、憔悴、凋謝和死亡，我甚至都不知道他們的名字。

從春季開始，爺爺就一直受疾病的折磨，一直持續到夏季。我開始料理當地的苗圃，研究選擇種子和植株。我買了些曾在爺爺的花園裏見過的樹木，盡心盡力地種在了我自己的花園裏，這給我帶來很特別的快樂。我在爺爺的花園裏發現了我喜歡多年的美洲石竹，以前一直不知道它的名字，現在我以爺爺的名譽栽下了它。

當我守護在爺爺身邊的時候，一些真理靜靜地涌現。我知道爺爺深愛着那些繁盛的花草;在他的花園裏，他種了一苗圃的玫瑰。不過，我也發現爺爺留了很多空地方，只爲了能夠讓光線照進來。花園裏並不是每個角落都經常有花開放，但總有一個接一個的驚喜從某個地方冒出來。

我也發現爺爺的花園是他一生的真實寫照。他是一個勤勞的工人，他理解收穫的規律。但是說起他的辛勤勞動，他又是一個知道如何享受四季和變化的人，我們經常拿他的過去開玩笑。他寫了兩段文字概述了他五十年的工作。其中，足足有九頁文字記載的是他的每次旅行和假期。

七月，爺爺的病情惡化了。有一天下午天氣很炎熱，沒有人在爺爺身邊。只有我在，他很高興，就伸出他的手把我抱得緊緊的。

我把我所學到的告訴了爺爺——很少有花能從五月開到十一月，絕大多部分花最多開一個月。爲了真正達到欣賞花園的目的，你必須在每個角落都種上花，叢叢花兒開放，把花園裝扮得非常漂亮，每個角落都有四季。

他用眼睛認真地傾聽着我的每句話，另一個發現是：“爺爺，如果我想要我的花園像你的花園話，我必須去工作。”他對着我笑，漏出了牙齒，眼神也在嬉笑我。

“爺爺，現在菊花正在開放，菊花和玫瑰花都在開放。”我們倆的眼裏都盈滿了淚花，我們都不害怕最後一朵花凋謝，但在十一月等待春天未免有點太長了，我們都知道我們會非常想念對方的。

我坐在那裏，突然感到我能給爺爺的最好禮物是說出我們之間的承諾。他從來沒有對我說起他的承諾，但我從來沒有質疑過的就是他人生中的這一部分，如果爺爺知道的話。我知道他所知道的。

“爺爺，”我開始說——他嘴脣緊閉，好像知道我要說什麼似的——“我想要你知道我有一個承諾。我知道救世主是存在的，我向你作證約瑟夫•史密斯是個預言家。我愛王政復辟時代，也很希望能加入它。”爺爺堅定的眼神也告訴了我他也有如此強烈的感受。“我向你作證金博爾總統是一個預言家。爺爺，我知道《魔門經》是真的，我拿整個人來向你作證。”

“爺爺，”我語氣平和地又說了一句，“我知道我們的上帝是愛你的。”我爺爺地位卑微，但人很平和，我不假思索地意外地想到這種精神給我帶來了上帝對爺爺的熱愛。

上帝對爺爺所遭受的苦難表示了很大的同情，這種意識一直環繞和支持着我們。這種自我意識是如此有力，以至我無法用語言將其描述——只有感恩和謙恭，還有安慰的淚水。

爺爺和我都流下了眼淚。

八月底，也是夏季即將過去的時候，爺爺還是走了。當大家在花店爲爺爺的葬禮選擇葬花時，我悄悄地離開來到爺爺的花園。走在花園裏，回憶着那些耬鬥菜和美洲石竹，現在只有熏衣草和白色夾竹桃在開花，另一個角落裏還開放着一些滿天星。

一時心血來潮，我把最漂亮的幾束夾竹桃和滿天星剪了下來，給爺爺葬禮增添了一份裝扮。看到這些花的時候，親友們都因爲看到爺爺的花而露出微笑。我們都知道爺爺一定會很喜歡那些花兒的。

在爺爺去世後的十月，我種了一些鬱金香、水仙、雪花蓮、番紅花及藍鈴花。每一個花苞對我來說都是一種安慰，都是給爺爺的一份愛，都是春天的一份承諾。