I too was once a boy in love with a pond， rich in sunny hours and summer days. Sun and summer are still what they always were， but the boy and the pond changed. The boy， who is now a man， no longer finds much time for idle drifting. The pond has been annexed by a great city. The swamps where herons once hunted are now drained and filled with houses. The bay where water lilies quietly floated is now a harbor for motor boats. In short， everything that the boy loved no longer exists—except in the man’s memory of it.
Some people insist that only today and tomorrow matter. But how much poorer we would be if we really lived by that rule！ So much of what we do today is frivolous and futile and soon forgotten. So much of what we hope to do tomorrow never happens.
The past is the bank in which we store our most valuable possession—the memories that give meaning and depth to our lives.
Those who truly treasure the past will not bemoan the passing of the good old days， because days enshrined in memory are never lost. Death itself is powerless to still a remembered voice or erase a remembered smile. And for one boy who is now a man， there is a pond which neither time nor tide can change， where he can still spend a quiet hour in the sun.
初？雪
First Snow
约翰·博因顿·普里斯特利 / John Boynton Priestley
罗伯特·林德曾这样评论简·奥斯汀笔下的人物：“他们是这样的人，在他们的生活中，能遇上一场小雪就算是一件大事。”尽管可能被这位诙谐而温和的评论家看成是伍德豪斯式的人物，我仍然坚持认为，昨晚这里下了一场雪的确是一件大事。清晨，看到这皑皑白雪，我和孩子们不禁兴奋起来，我看到他们在幼儿室的窗户前凝望着外面奇妙的世界，七嘴八舌说个没完，仿佛又要过圣诞节了。事实上，这场雪对我和孩子们来说都是惊奇、迷人的。这是这里今年冬天的第一场雪，由于去年此时我身在国外，在落雪时节正经历着热带的高温，所以再次看到铺着这洁白地毯的大地，有种久违了的感觉。去年在国外时，我遇上英属圭亚那三个年轻的女孩子，她们刚结束对英国的初访。她们印象最深的两件事是：伦敦街头熙熙攘攘的人群，全都是陌生的面孔（她们强调这一点，是因为她们一直生活在小镇，人们彼此都很熟悉）；另外一件事是在索默塞特某地，一天清晨醒来忽然见到了白雪皑皑的景象。她们欣喜若狂，一扫淑女的矜持，冲出屋子，来回奔跑在那片晶莹洁白的雪地上，在无人踩过的雪毯上，留下了横七竖八快乐的脚印，正像孩子们今天早晨在花园里做的那样。