参赛券英译汉参赛文章Gloriesofthestorm.doc

参赛券姓名出生年月性别参赛类别所在学院电子邮箱电话英译汉参赛文章Glories of the stormIt begins when a feeling of stillness creeps into my consciousness. Everything has suddenly gone quiet. Birds do not chirp. Leaves do not rustle. Insects do not sing.The air that has been hot all day becomes heavy. It hangs over the trees, presses the heads of the flowers to the ground, sits on my shoulders. With a vague feeling of uneasiness I move to the window. There, in the west, lies the answercloud has piled on cloud to form a ridge of mammoth white towers, rearing against blue sky.Their piecing whiteness is of brief duration. Soon the marshmallow rims flatten to anvil tops, and the clouds reveal their darker nature. They impose themselves before the late-afternoon sun, and the day darkens early. Then a gust of wind whips the dust along the road, chill warning of what is to come.In the house a door shuts with a bang, curtains billow into the room. I rush to close the windows, empty the clothesline, secure the patio furnishings. Thunder begins to grumble in the distance.The first drops of rain are huge. They splat into the dust and imprint the windows with individual signatures. They plink on the vent pipe and plunk on the patio roof. Leaves shudder under their weight before rebounding, and sidewalk wears a coat of shiny spots.The rhythm accelerates; plink follows plunk faster and faster until the sound is a roll of drums and the individual drops become an army marching over fields and rooftops. Now the first bolt of lightning stabs the earth. It is heavens exclamation point. The storm is here.In spite of myself, I jump at the following crack of thunder. It rattles the windowpane and sends the dog scratching to get under the bed. The next bolt is even closer. It raises the hair on the back of my neck, and I take an involuntary step away from the window.The rain now becomes a torrent, flung capriciously by a rising wind. Together they batter the trees and level the grasses. Water streams off roofs and out of rain spouts. It pounds against the window in such a steady ash that I am sightless. There is only water. How can so much fall so fast? How could the clouds have supported this vast weight? How can the earth endure beneath it?Pacing through the house from window to window, I am moved to open-mouthed wonder. Look how the lilac bends under the assault, how the day lilies are flattened, how the hillside steps are a new-made waterfall! Now hailstones thump upon the roof. They bounce white against the grass and splash into the puddles. I think of the vegetable garden, the fruit trees, the crops in the fields; but, thankfully, the hailstones are not enough in numbers or size to do real damage. Not this time.For this storm is already beginning to pass. The tension is released from the atmosphere, the curtains of rain let in more light. The storm has spent most of its energy, and what is left will be expended on the countryside to the east.I am drawn outside while the rain still falls. All around, there is a cool and welcome feeling. I breathe deeply and watch the suns rays streak through breaking clouds. One ray catches the drips that form on the edge of the roof, and I am treated to a row of tiny, quivering colorsmy private rainbow.I pick my way through the wet grass, my feet sinking into the saturated soil. The creek in the gully runs bank-full of brown water, but the small lakes and puddles are already disappearing into the earth. Every leaf, brick, shingle and blade of grass is fresh-washed and shining.Like the land, I am renewed, my spirit cleansed. I feel an infinite peace. For a time I have forgotten the worries and irritations I was nurturing before. They have been washed away by the glories of the storm.汉译英参赛文章一张忘取的汇款单工作后，我极少打电话给父亲，只是在每月领了工资后，寄500元钱回家。每次到邮局，我总会想起大学时父亲寄钱的情景。四年来，他每月都要将收废品挣到的一大把卷了角的零钱，在服务人员鄙夷的眼光中，谦卑地放在柜台上而今，我以同样的方式，每月给父亲寄钱。邮局的人，已经跟我相熟，总是说，半年寄一次多方便，或者你给父亲办个卡，直接转账，就不必如此频繁地一次次填地址了。每一次，我只是笑笑，他们不会明白，这是我给与父亲的一个虚荣。当载着绿色邮包的邮递员，在门口高喊着父亲的名字，让他签收汇款单的时候，左邻右舍都会探出头来，一脸羡慕地看着他完成这一“庄严”的程序。父亲会在汇款来到的前几日，就焦虑而又幸福地等待着，去镇上邮局取钱的这天，他会像出席重要会议一样，穿上最整洁的衣服，徒步走去。一路上，总会有人问，干什么去啊？他每次都扬扬手里的汇款单，说，儿子寄钱来了，去邮局取。对于父亲，这应该是一次幸福的旅行吧。别人的每一次问话，都让他的幸福加深一次，而那足够他一个月花费的500元钱，反而变得微不足道了。汇款单上的附言一栏里，我和父亲当年一样，总是任其空着。我曾试图在上面写过一些话，让父亲注意身体，或者晚上早点休息，但每一次写完，我又撕掉了。邮局的女孩子总是笑着问：写的这么好，你爸看到会开心的，为什么要去掉呢？我依然笑笑，不做解释。这不是我们彼此表达关爱的习惯。只有一次，邮局的女孩子特意提醒我，说：建议你这次在附言里至少写上一句话。我一怔。她继续说：等你父亲收到汇款的时候，差不多就到父亲节了，这句话，可是比你这500块钱重要多了。或许整个小镇上的人，都没有听说过父亲节，这是个略带矫情的节日，只属于城市。但我很顺从地依照她的话，在附言栏里一笔一画写下：祝父亲节快乐。但正是这张汇款单，父亲不知为何，竟忘了去取钱。两个月后，钱给退了回来。我打电话去问他。他说：忘了