<FONT face="Times New Roman"><FONT size=4>Today was not meant for a long trip off my village. Especially when it has been snowy for several months. Even the squirrels know how to keep their frozen bodies warm by simply hiding into the pine trunks. And when I am finally on my way back to my village, no symptom of any lamps or candles giving out light is present in my sight. <o:p></o:p></FONT></FONT>
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<FONT face="Times New Roman"><FONT size=4>Had it not been for an important invitation from the Count in the town, I could have fallen asleep at this deadly quietness of a country night, and …Annabel, of course, she would not have been worried all day long. But now, I guess, again she sleeps with tears falling quietly down from her jade face. <o:p></o:p></FONT></FONT>
<o:p><FONT face="Times New Roman" size=4></FONT></o:p>
<FONT face="Times New Roman"><FONT size=4>Through the woods before I proceed with my horse. The woods? It has been the landlord of this soil ever since I was born. And John Smith, the master of these woods, my old friend and old fellow, must be dreaming in bed in his house beside mine, fire burning softly in the grate. Had night not drawn so soon, I would have the right to drop in his house and ask for a cup of Jean Jean, and listen to his point again and again on grape wine: “The more detailed the address of the wine factory is on the bottle, the more the wine values”. <o:p></o:p></FONT></FONT>
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<FONT face="Times New Roman"><FONT size=4>Now his woods are as dead and cold as the night. Snow is white and it touches my sight. John Smith’s woods, half dead and half alive, half brown and half white, stand stubbornly on the ground against the chilly wind and flakes, stretch their white branches high up into the sky.<o:p></o:p></FONT></FONT>
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<FONT face="Times New Roman"><FONT size=4>Deeply moved by the scenery I have never, in my past ages, bothered to take a second glance at, I cease and dismount. On the opposite side of the woods is a lake. Now it being frozen all over, I can ride my horse on it steadily towards the village, and return to the snug arms of my beautiful Annabel. But I cease and dismount, alone on the darkest evening of the year, alone at the place between woods and lake. <o:p></o:p></FONT></FONT>
<o:p><FONT face="Times New Roman" size=4></FONT></o:p>
<FONT face="Times New Roman"><FONT size=4><st1:place w:st="on"> rinceton</st1:place>, my horse, doesn’t seem to understand me. He has been with me for several years. He understands me my gestures, whistles, touches and even the expressions in my eyes. He doesn’t understand this time, and he starts to shake his harness bells. Two beams of steam come out from his nose, and he sways his head and murmurs. As to a horse, what else can he expect besides being ridden and driven during his whole lifetime? And how about me, a humble child of the God, a tiny drop of water in the ocean, a feeble flame of fire on the prairie, and an insignificant man of the age?<o:p></o:p></FONT></FONT>
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<FONT face="Times New Roman"><FONT size=4>Silence all around. Snowflakes gently cover my coat. My shoulders are strong enough to bear, though. But there are portraits rolling high and low in my head: acquaintance; enemies; friends; my love and my bride, Annabel.<o:p></o:p></FONT></FONT>
<FONT size=4>Without turning my head, I remount and head for the village. The woods I leave behind are lovely, dark and deep. </FONT>
<FONT size=4>.S. By vince the poet&storyteller.[em10]Vielen Dank.</FONT>
<FONT size=4>.S.S. Good things never die. And those who die dont necessarily be bad things, either.</FONT>
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[此贴子已经被作者于2005-12-8 20:17:05编辑过]
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