第一篇 Things about Love
爱的两三事
Altogether Autumn
佚名 / Anonymous
Suddenly I think of my youngest daughter， living now in Amsterdam. Very soon she will call and ask， “Have you planted the bulbs yet？” Then I will answer teasingly that actually I’m waiting until she comes to help me. And then we will both be overcome by nostalgia， because once we always did that together. One entire sunny autumn afternoon， when she was just over three and a half years old， she helped me with all the enthusiasm and joyfulness of her age.
It was one of the last afternoons I had her around because her place in school had already been reserved. She wandered around so happily carefree with her little bucket and spade， covering the bulbs with earth and calling out “Night night” or “Sleep tight”， her little voice chattering constantly on. She discovered “baby bulbs” and “kiddie bulbs” and “mummy and daddy bulbs”—the latter snuggling cozily together. While we were both working so industriously， I watched my child very deliberately. She was such a tiny thing， between an infant and a toddler， with such a round little tummy.
Every autumn， throughout her childhood， we repeated the ritual of planting the bulbs together. And every autumn I saw her changing； the toddler became a schoolgirl， a straightforward realist， full of drive. Never once dreamy， her hands in her pockets； no longer happily indulging her fantasies. The schoolgirl developed long legs， her jawline changed， she had her hair cut. It was autumn again and I thought “Bye roses； bye butterflies； bye schoolgirl.” I listened to her stories while we painstakingly burrowed in the earth， planting the promise of spring.
Suddenly， much quicker than I had expected， a tall teenager was standing by my side； she had grown taller than I. The ritual became rather silent， we no longer chattered away from one subject to another. I thought about her room full of posters and knick-knacks， how it had been full of treasures in bottles and boxes， white pebbles， a copper brooch， colored drawings， the treasures of a child who still knew nothing of money， who wanted to be read aloud to and who looked anxiously at a spider in her room and asked， “Would he want to be my friend？”