The winter of wisconsinNothing. No tracks but my own are stitched into the dusting of fresh snow, white as birch bark, that fell during the night. No flittering shadows in the trees, not a sliver of bird song in the air.
天地一片空寂。昨夜刚刚飘落的一场大雪，像白桦树皮那样洁白，白雪皑皑的大地上只留下一行我自己的足迹，仿佛缝在白布上的一行细密针脚。树上没有飞鸟的影子掠过，空中也没有一丝鸟儿的歌声。
What sun there is this time of year shines weakly, halfheartedly through the white gauze of clouds, offering not even the slightest pretense of warmth. For nearly a week temperatures around my Wisconsin cabin have not risen above zero. The mercury seems painted to the bottom of the thermometer.
一年中此时的太阳发出微弱的光线，懒洋洋地透过薄薄的云层，没有一丝暖意。几乎有一个星期了，我在威斯康星州的小屋里的气温还没有到过零度以上。温度计里的水银柱降到了底端。
Excerpt:From A promise of spring.
By Jeff Rennicke |