Even my taste buds prefer the rain. When it storms outside, it's time for steamy hot chocolate or even soothing toddy. People devour hot, hearty meals, with lots of potatoes and savory sauces. This type of eating evaporates when the sun comes out; suddenly everyone offers salads and ice water and expects it to be satisfying.
It’s time to publicly acknowledge that I love the rain, how it transforms my house into a cozy caves where I can spend the afternoon cooking and dreaming. It seems nobody else will admit to a love affair with the rain, nobody else will groan when it’s hot outside and join me in a rain dance.
When the sun comes out I do greet it with a smile, slipping sunglasses to my purse and pulling a tank top out of my closet. Yet my comfortable sweaters and warm slippers beckon, making me wish for another wet, chilly afternoon. When the rain returns, I will grin even more. Am I the only one?
我有一个极少被人理解甚至无人愿意分享的秘密。现在应该说出来了：我爱雨，深情而热烈，甚至胜过对太阳的爱。最起码我住在适宜之地，以潮湿的天气和产生自己的雨林而出名。除了太平洋西北部，我想不出自己还能住在哪儿。阳光如此罕见，以至我的朋友们都忘了把太阳镜放到哪里去了。乌云密布的天空让很多在这儿生活的人都遭受季节性的情绪波动，然而我却欢迎雨的到来。
西雅图人会说他们喜欢雨使这个城市变绿，空气变得清新。我喜欢雨的真正原因纯粹是出于自我考虑。在外面泥泞的时候，我可以什么都不干，整个下午蜷缩在家里看书，再生盆火，泡一大壶香茶。我可以睡到很晚，时而醒来倾听屋檐上柔和的拍打，水顺着水槽往下流的声音。没人要我离开房子或去干一些超负荷的劳动。也许我会邀上几个朋友看一部老电影，或者玩玩棋盘游戏。朋友的期望不高，极易满足。
西雅图的夏天如此美丽却令人疲惫不堪。晴朗的天气和蔚蓝的天空吸引着西雅图人走出安逸舒适的小家，准备去干燥的户外寻找乐趣。他们去远足、骑车、划独木舟。他们修整自家的花园、洗车、去公园听露天音乐会，所有这些都在同一天做完！在他们举行烤肉、野餐和参加水上滑雪派对时，他们会把派对分成几个等级一步步推进。
在这样绚丽多彩的日子不出去尽情享受这美妙的时刻好像不合情理。当别人问“你周末出去享受阳光了吗？”，你如果回答“没有，我呆在家里了。”是很令人尴尬的。同事们皱起眉头并相互交换猜疑的表情，很明显我就是那种喜欢下雨天的懒蛋儿。我试图撒谎，但我苍白的脸色总会出卖我。
我喜欢雨的另一个原因是，当室外天气较冷且潮湿时，我的身体不会跟我作对。整个冬天，人们都穿着好几层衣服，可能这儿那儿的多重了几磅。在六月份我就翻出了短裤，结果却发现我的大腿就像白软干酪似的。我害怕买游泳衣，由于接二连三令人恐怖和丢面子的情形发生，使得我总是躲在更衣室里。
甚至我的味蕾也喜欢雨天，外面狂风暴雨时，正是吃热巧克力或者喝轻柔的棕榈汁的好时机。人们吞吃着丰盛的热肉、许多土豆以及风味极佳的调味品。等太阳出来了就不使用这种吃法了，猛然间每个人都吃沙拉以及冰水，认为这就能使人满意了。
现在我该公开宣布了：我喜欢雨，是它把我的家变成了一个温暖而舒适的小窝。我可以花整个下午的时间边做饭边胡思乱想。似乎没有其他人愿意承认喜欢雨，但在外面很热时，也没有人为加入我的祈雨舞会而感到犹豫。
太阳出来时我一样会笑脸相迎，把太阳镜塞进包里，从壁橱中取出紧身背心。然而我舒适的羊毛衫和温暖的拖鞋又在召唤我了，让我期待有雨而寒冷的下午再次到来。雨又回来时我甚至更为高兴。我是惟一一个这样的人吗？
The Earth Warms up—You Can Smell It大地暖和起来了，你可以闻到四月的气息
Springs are not always the same. In some years, April bursts upon Virginia hills in one prodigious leap – and all the stage is filled at once, whole choruses of tulips, arabesques of forsythia, and cadenzas of flowering plum. The trees grow leaves overnight.
In other years, spring tiptoes in. It pauses, overcome by shyness, like my grandchild at the door, peeping in, ducking out of sight, giggling in the hallway. “I know you’re out there,” I cry. “Come in!” And April slips into our arms.
The dogwood bud, pale green, is inlaid with russet markings. Within the perfect cup a score of clustered seeds are nestled. One examines the bud in awe: Where were those seeds a month ago? The apples display their milliner’s scraps of ivory silk, rose-tinged. All the sleeping things wake up – primrose, baby iris, blue phlox. The earth warms – you can smell it, feel it, crumble April in your hands.
Look to the rue anemone, if you will, or the pea patch, or to the stubborn weed that thrusts its shoulders through a city street. This is how it was, is now, and ever shall be, the world without end. In the serene certainty of spring recurring, who can fear the distant fall?
春不总是千篇一律的。有时候，四月一个健步就跃上了弗吉尼亚的小山丘。顿时，整个舞台活跃起来：郁金香们引吭高歌，连翘花翩翩起舞，梅花表演起了独奏。树木也在一夜之间披上了新绿。
有时候，春又悄然来临。它欲前又止，羞涩腼腆，就像我的小孙女，倚在门口，偷偷往里瞅，又一下子跑开了，不见踪影，从门厅传出她咯咯的笑声。我喊一声：“我知道你在那儿，进来吧！”于是四月便倏地一下飞进我们怀中。
山茱蓃的花骨朵儿嫩绿嫩绿的，镶着赤褐色的花边。在那漂亮的花萼里，竟稳稳地簇拥着十几颗小种子。我们不禁要惊羡地问一句：一个月前这些种子还在哪儿呢？苹果树则像卖帽人，向人们展示他帽子上那一片片微带点玫瑰红地乳白色丝缎。所有熟睡的都醒了——樱草花、小蝴蝶花、蓝夹竹桃。大地也暖和起来了——你可以闻到四月的气息，感觉到它那股馨香，把它捧在手中赏玩。
去看看白头翁花，如果你愿意，再去看看豌豆畦，或是那倔强地手臂伸过城市街道的野花。它们从前是这样，现在是这样，将来还会是这样，这是个永不停息的世界。当我们发现，春已切切实实地回来了，在恬静之中，谁还会害怕遥远的秋天呢？
The Golden Years美好的晚年
My best friend, Cocoa, and I live in a senior-citizen apartment complex in a lovely small town. Cocoa is a ten-year-old poodle and I am a sixty-nine-yea-old lady, so you can see we both qualify as senior citizens.
Years ago, I promised myself that when I retired I would get a chocolate poodle to share my golden years. From the very first, Cocoa has always been exceptionally well-behaved. I never have to tell him anything more than once. He was housebroken in three days and has never done anything naughty. He is extremely neat--when taking his toys from his box to play, he always puts them back when he is finished. I have been accused of being obsessively neat, and sometimes I wonder if he mimics me or if he was born that way, too.
He is a wonderful companion. When I throw a ball for him, he picks it up in his mouth and throws it back to me. We sometimes play a game I played as a child--but never with a dog. He puts his paw on my hand, I cover it with my other hand, he puts his paw on top, and I slide my hand out from underneath the pile and lay it on top, and so on. He does many amusing things that make me laugh, and when that happens, he is so delighted he just keeps it up. I enjoy his company immensely.
But almost two years ago, Cocoa did something that defies comprehension. Was it a miracle or a coincidence? It is certainly a mystery.
One afternoon, Cocoa started acting strangely. I was sitting on the floor playing with him, when he started pawing and sniffing at the right side of my chest. He had never done anything like this ever before, and I told him, “No.” With Cocoa, one “no” is usually sufficient, but not that day. He stopped briefly, and then suddenly ran toward me from the other side of the room, throwing his entire weigh--eighteen pounds--at the right side of my chest. He crashed into me and I yelped in pain. It hurt more than I thought it should have.