春意盎然 春风在履

春天突然来了，吓了我一跳。头一天我们还在寒冷的隆冬，第二天就脱掉大衣，浑身倍感轻松。它影响到万事万物。一下子，心情愉快了，气氛轻松了，生活更有意思了，未来不那么暗淡了。没有人例外。

这种突如其来令春天越发引人注目，但自然界是我们的一部分，不管我们是否意识到，它都以无数种方式影响着我们，我们不可能对此视而不见。

这种戏剧性的季节变化迫使我们关注大自然。小树林和灌木丛里一下子充满了各式各样的声音：用音乐庆祝突如其来的季节更迭。在阳光明媚的周一，我听到今年第一只棕柳莺的叫声。这是第一只候鸟——勇敢的冬迁大部队的先锋来了，在春天里放声歌唱。

伴随着吓人的嗡嗡声，花园里重现生机：黄蜂和蜜蜂都已经在工作，精神抖擞，抓紧时间在花儿上劳作，就好像一分钟也不能耽搁。瓢虫沐浴着阳光，自命不凡地忙碌着。还有一只苍蝇——我知道他们不是最吸引人的生物，但它们令人眼花缭乱的飞行绝技理应得到比现在多得多的赞誉。

在沟渠的护墙上，黄色的迎春花鲜艳夺目。被称为“第一朵玫瑰”的它们是最早开放、最勇敢的花儿。树芽看上去很着急，七叶树上的芽儿已经崭露头角。我不会怀疑春天是否已经到来。

花园里，戴菊莺拥有最嘹亮的歌声；原野上，云雀一刻不停歇地唱着哈利路亚。即使不能像我这么快说出它们的名字，或者记录下这些音符的人，也不可能注意不到新的季节来了。每个人都如履春风。

春天会来到你的面前，你也会在路上碰到春天。所以我动身去我最喜欢的萨福克海岸散步，游览海湾、林地、荒野、芦苇滩、潟湖和沼泽，在路的尽头喝杯啤酒。

我看见两只反嘴鹬刷刷地一齐摆动着它们向上翘起的嘴巴。它们是一对，是恋人。显然渴望开始繁育更多的反嘴鹬。芦苇丛中发出好似定时器的敲击声。那是文须雀，之所以叫这个名字，是因为它们既没有胡须，也不是山雀。它们发出的声音就好像老式收银机计算先令和便士。在芦苇穗下，它们过着神秘的生活。

芦鹀唱着漫不经心的小调，接下来，也许是感觉到季节的紧迫和阳光的温暖，这些戴着黑色礼帽的漂亮小鸟开始搔首弄姿。在沙滩上，可爱得好像不该生活在现实生活中的剑鸻开始成双成对地巡视着它们荒凉的领地。令人惊讶的是，它们将在这样险恶的地方安家。

那边还有另一个春的信号——萨福克野生动物基金会的人在地面上打上木桩，连成一英里长的篱笆，这样等燕鸥来了，就能够安窝筑巢而不会遭到人踩狗吠。我驻足与他们谈笑风生。春天真美好。

Spring arrived suddenly, making me jump. One day we’re in the bleak midwinter, next day the overcoat’s off and we’re all experiencing the bearable lightness of being. It affects everybody and everything. At a stroke tempers are better, moods are easier, life is more amusing, the future less threatening. No one is immune.

The suddenness makes it all especially noticeable, but the natural world is part of us and it touches us in a million ways, whether we are aware of it or not. It’s not something that we have the option of setting aside.

This melodramatic shift in the seasons has forced the wild world to our attention. At a stroke the little woods and copses became a cacophony: a musical celebration of the instantaneous horniness of the turning year. On blazing Monday I heard the year’s first chiffchaff. This is the first migrant——the vanguard of the great flock of intrepid winter-dodgers that arrive and sing in the spring.

In the garden, life returned with a threatening buzz: bees, both bumble and honey, are already at their work, waking up and getting stuck into the flowers as if they hadn’t a minute to lose. Ladybirds soaked up sun as they busied about in their self-important way. And a fly——not the sexiest creatures, I know, but their dizzy aerial brilliance should inspire far more admiration than it does.

Primroses, glowing yellow from the walls of sheltered ditches, prima rosa, the first and most courageous of the flowers. Buds, looking urgent, those on the conker trees already beginning to burst. I shouldn’t wonder if the world doesn’t turn green.

Goldcrest, with the highest song of all in the garden, over the fields skylarks singing hallelujahs without taking a single breath. And even those who are slower than I am to call out the names or write down the signs cannot escape that the new season is here. There is a spring in everybody’s step.

Spring is something that comes to you. It is also something that you can meet halfway. So I set off on my favourite walk along Suffolk coast, taking in an estuary, woodland, sandling heath, reedbeds, lagoons and marshes, with a pint at the far end of it all.

I saw two avocets swishing their turny-up beaks in synchronised dance, a pair, an item, and one clearly itching to get on with the task of making more avocets. In the reeds the urgent pinging of the pingers. These are bearded tits, so named because they are neither bearded nor tits. They make a sound not unlike that of an ancient cash register totting up shillings and pence, and they live mysterious lives below the level of the seedheads.

Reed buntings exchanged bursts of their perfunctory bit of song, and then, feeling the urgency of the season and the warmth of the sun, flaunted themselves, handsome little birds in black hats. On the shingle, ringed plovers, looking too sweet to live in the real world, surveyed their bleak domain two by two, a forbidding place where, astonishingly, they will nest.

And there, another sign of spring—— people from Suffolk Wildlife Trust driving posts into the ground, making a fence a mile long, so that when the terns come, they will be able to nest without being trampled on by humans and woofed at by dogs. I stopped to banter. Spring. Good thing.（韦锦周摘自《参考消息》）