六月下旬的一个周六上午，来到 Duke Gardens。
池塘里散落着颜色不一的睡莲。
有的已全然盛开，有的还是绿色花苞。
池水不时冒出细小气泡。
一只蜻蜓停在花苞顶端。
忽然想起南宋诗人杨万里的一句名诗：
“小荷才露尖尖角，
早有蜻蜓立上头。”
它停了许久。
花轻轻摇。
水也轻轻摇。
后来，蜻蜓飞走了。
花苞还在。
水声还在。
不远处，一朵粉色睡莲吸引了我的目光。
只见一只蜜蜂绕着花心飞来飞去。
忙了一阵，又钻进花中。
再往旁边看，一只红蜻蜓落在紫莲上。
花在风里轻轻晃动。
蜻蜓也随着轻轻晃动。
池水荡开一圈圈细纹。
整个池塘安静下来。
红蜓停紫蕊，
花影落清池。
风动波纹皱，
无人知此时。
The morning light filtered through the trees, casting speckled shadows across the porch. I sat outside reading, the wind flipping the pages softly—along with a quiet moment. Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. It was my sister.
June brings a touch of sadness. I met new friends during the courses; we shared laughter and stories, building bonds that felt unbreakable at the time. But we parted ways when they ended, and most of us may never meet again. The scent of fresh-cut grass and the vibrant colors of summer blooms remind me…
I stand beneath the osmanthus tree in your humble, old yard, in the seventeenth century, watching you. You lean against the wooden door, eyes fixed on the narrow mud path outside, which still holds the fading footprints of your best friend, Xi Han. A gust of wind sweeps through, stirring a small pile of leaves…
生怕惊扰了它，我放慢脚步。
早春的枝条还瘦，只冒出几点嫩芽。
The grass becomes lusher and greener after the summer rain. Fir trees gently sway in the breeze, their shadows side by side, overlaying the lawn like rolling little peaks. In the strong sun, a large green dragonfly circles over the grass. I stand under the eaves and watch as it ignores me, flapping its sparkling…