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FIRSTSNOWByJonathanNicholasHewasn'tsurewhathadawakenedhim.Perhapsthechildhadmadesomes...
FIRST SNOW
By Jonathan Nicholas
He wasn't sure what had awakened him. Perhaps the child had made some small noise in her sleep. But as he peeked from beneath the covers, his gaze was drawn not to the cradle but to the window.
It was then that he realized what had sneaked through the shield of his slumbers. It was the sense of falling snow.
Quietly, so as not to disturb the child's mother, he rose from the bed and inched toward the cradle. Reaching down, he gently lifted the warm bundle to his shoulder. Then, as he tiptoed from the bedroom, she lifted her head, opened her eyes and - daily dose of magic - smiled up at her dad.
He carried her downstairs, counting the creaks on the way. Together, they settled in at the kitchen table, and the adult in him slipped away. Two children now, they pressed their noses against the glass.
The light from the street lamp on the corner filtered down through the birch trees, casting a glow as green as a summer memory upon the winter-brown back yard. From the distance came the endless echo of the stoplight, flashing its ruby message, teasing like a dawn that would not come.
The flakes were falling thick and hard now, pouring past the window, a waterfall of mystery. Occasionally, one would stick to the glass, as if reluctant to tumble to its fate. Then, slowly, slipping and sliding down the glass, it would melt, its beauty fleeting. Gone.
Within an hour, a white tablecloth was spread upon the lawn. And as gray streaks of dawn unraveled along the black seam of the distant hills, father and daughter watched the new day ripple across the neighborhood.
A porch light came on. A car door slammed. A television flickered.
Across the street, a family scurried into gear. But this day was different. Glimpsed through undraped window as they darted from room to room, the slim figures of the children seemed to grow ever fatter until, finally, the kitchen door flew open and out burst three awesomely bundled objects that set instantly to rolling in the snow.
He wondered where they had learned this behavior. Even the littlest one, for whom this must have been the first real snowfall, seemed to know instinctively what to do.
They rolled in it, they tasted it, they packed it into balls and tossed it at one another. Then, just when he thought they might not know everything, they set about shaping a snowman on the crest of the hill.
By the time the snowman's nose was in place, the neighborhood was fully awake. A car whined in protest, but skidded staunchly out of its driveway. Buses ground forward like Marines, determined to take the hill. And all the while, the baby sat secure and warm in his arms.
He knew, of course, that she wouldn't remember any of this. For her there would be other snowfalls to recall. But for him, it was her first. Their first. And the memory would stay, cold and hard, fresh in his thoughts, long after the snowman melted. 展开
By Jonathan Nicholas
He wasn't sure what had awakened him. Perhaps the child had made some small noise in her sleep. But as he peeked from beneath the covers, his gaze was drawn not to the cradle but to the window.
It was then that he realized what had sneaked through the shield of his slumbers. It was the sense of falling snow.
Quietly, so as not to disturb the child's mother, he rose from the bed and inched toward the cradle. Reaching down, he gently lifted the warm bundle to his shoulder. Then, as he tiptoed from the bedroom, she lifted her head, opened her eyes and - daily dose of magic - smiled up at her dad.
He carried her downstairs, counting the creaks on the way. Together, they settled in at the kitchen table, and the adult in him slipped away. Two children now, they pressed their noses against the glass.
The light from the street lamp on the corner filtered down through the birch trees, casting a glow as green as a summer memory upon the winter-brown back yard. From the distance came the endless echo of the stoplight, flashing its ruby message, teasing like a dawn that would not come.
The flakes were falling thick and hard now, pouring past the window, a waterfall of mystery. Occasionally, one would stick to the glass, as if reluctant to tumble to its fate. Then, slowly, slipping and sliding down the glass, it would melt, its beauty fleeting. Gone.
Within an hour, a white tablecloth was spread upon the lawn. And as gray streaks of dawn unraveled along the black seam of the distant hills, father and daughter watched the new day ripple across the neighborhood.
A porch light came on. A car door slammed. A television flickered.
Across the street, a family scurried into gear. But this day was different. Glimpsed through undraped window as they darted from room to room, the slim figures of the children seemed to grow ever fatter until, finally, the kitchen door flew open and out burst three awesomely bundled objects that set instantly to rolling in the snow.
He wondered where they had learned this behavior. Even the littlest one, for whom this must have been the first real snowfall, seemed to know instinctively what to do.
They rolled in it, they tasted it, they packed it into balls and tossed it at one another. Then, just when he thought they might not know everything, they set about shaping a snowman on the crest of the hill.
By the time the snowman's nose was in place, the neighborhood was fully awake. A car whined in protest, but skidded staunchly out of its driveway. Buses ground forward like Marines, determined to take the hill. And all the while, the baby sat secure and warm in his arms.
He knew, of course, that she wouldn't remember any of this. For her there would be other snowfalls to recall. But for him, it was her first. Their first. And the memory would stay, cold and hard, fresh in his thoughts, long after the snowman melted. 展开
2个回答
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第一场雪
由Jonathan尼古拉斯
他不知道什么唤醒了他。也许在孩子已取得了一些在她的睡眠，噪音小。但是，当他从被子底下偷看，吸引他目光的摇篮，但不是到窗口。
就在这时，他意识到了什么，通过他的沉睡盾潜入。那是下雪的感觉。
悄悄地，尽量不要打扰孩子的母亲，他从床上，向摇篮小幅。深远的下跌，他轻轻地把热烈捆绑他的肩膀。然后，他蹑手蹑脚从卧室里，她抬起头，睁开了眼睛， - 每日享受到的魅力 - 微笑着她的爸爸了。
他抱着她往楼下在路上，吱吱作响。总之，他们定居在厨房的桌子，并在他成年溜走了。现在是两个孩子，他们贴着玻璃掩鼻。
从上通过过滤桦树那个角路灯的光，铸像在冬天，布朗后院的夏日回忆绿色的光芒。从远处传来了无尽的回声的信号灯，闪烁的红宝石消息，如一个黎明不会来取笑。
雪花在下降厚，现在很难，过去的窗口，一个神秘的飞瀑。有时，人会坚持在窗玻璃上，仿佛不愿将跌向它的命运。然后，慢慢地滑落，滑落的玻璃，它会融化，它的美丽稍纵即逝。走了。
不到一个小时，一辆白色台布铺在了草坪。同时，由于晨曦沿煤层揭开远山黑色条纹，父亲和女儿看着对面的邻居新的一天的波动。
门廊灯来了。车门砰的一声。一个电视闪烁。
街对面，一个家庭急忙成齿轮。但是，这一天是不同的。通过无遮盖的窗户瞥见冲过来，因为他们从一个房间到另旅皮一个房间，儿童的超薄数字似乎变得越来越胖，直到最后，厨房的门突然打开，蹦出来三个赫然捆绑对象，设置立即对在雪地里滚动。
他不知道他们在那里学会了这行为。即使是最小的一个，对他们来说，这一定是第一个真正的降雪，似氏镇纯乎本能地知道该怎么做。
他们在上面滚，他们尝过，他们打点成球状，并在互相投掷它。然后，正当他以为他们可能不知道的一切，他们开始形成一种对山顶的雪人。
由当时的雪人的鼻子到位，邻居们也完全清醒。一辆汽车发牢骚抗议，但滑到了一边。前海军陆战队地面巴士一样，决心采取上山。而这段时间，孩子坐在安全，在他的怀里取暖。
他知道，歼咐当然，她不会记得了。对她来说会有其他降雪召回。但对他来说，这是她第一次。他们的第一个。和内存会留下来，冷，硬，新鲜的是他的思想，很久之后，雪人融化。
由Jonathan尼古拉斯
他不知道什么唤醒了他。也许在孩子已取得了一些在她的睡眠，噪音小。但是，当他从被子底下偷看，吸引他目光的摇篮，但不是到窗口。
就在这时，他意识到了什么，通过他的沉睡盾潜入。那是下雪的感觉。
悄悄地，尽量不要打扰孩子的母亲，他从床上，向摇篮小幅。深远的下跌，他轻轻地把热烈捆绑他的肩膀。然后，他蹑手蹑脚从卧室里，她抬起头，睁开了眼睛， - 每日享受到的魅力 - 微笑着她的爸爸了。
他抱着她往楼下在路上，吱吱作响。总之，他们定居在厨房的桌子，并在他成年溜走了。现在是两个孩子，他们贴着玻璃掩鼻。
从上通过过滤桦树那个角路灯的光，铸像在冬天，布朗后院的夏日回忆绿色的光芒。从远处传来了无尽的回声的信号灯，闪烁的红宝石消息，如一个黎明不会来取笑。
雪花在下降厚，现在很难，过去的窗口，一个神秘的飞瀑。有时，人会坚持在窗玻璃上，仿佛不愿将跌向它的命运。然后，慢慢地滑落，滑落的玻璃，它会融化，它的美丽稍纵即逝。走了。
不到一个小时，一辆白色台布铺在了草坪。同时，由于晨曦沿煤层揭开远山黑色条纹，父亲和女儿看着对面的邻居新的一天的波动。
门廊灯来了。车门砰的一声。一个电视闪烁。
街对面，一个家庭急忙成齿轮。但是，这一天是不同的。通过无遮盖的窗户瞥见冲过来，因为他们从一个房间到另旅皮一个房间，儿童的超薄数字似乎变得越来越胖，直到最后，厨房的门突然打开，蹦出来三个赫然捆绑对象，设置立即对在雪地里滚动。
他不知道他们在那里学会了这行为。即使是最小的一个，对他们来说，这一定是第一个真正的降雪，似氏镇纯乎本能地知道该怎么做。
他们在上面滚，他们尝过，他们打点成球状，并在互相投掷它。然后，正当他以为他们可能不知道的一切，他们开始形成一种对山顶的雪人。
由当时的雪人的鼻子到位，邻居们也完全清醒。一辆汽车发牢骚抗议，但滑到了一边。前海军陆战队地面巴士一样，决心采取上山。而这段时间，孩子坐在安全，在他的怀里取暖。
他知道，歼咐当然，她不会记得了。对她来说会有其他降雪召回。但对他来说，这是她第一次。他们的第一个。和内存会留下来，冷，硬，新鲜的是他的思想，很久之后，雪人融化。
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