This past April while visiting my parents on the farm I’d grown up on, I wandered outside to drink in the feel of “home”, a comfort I really needed right then. I was used to sunny Southern Californian mornings, and the brisk early-morning Iowan air nipped at my nose, ears and bare hands.
刚刚过去的那个四月，我回到我在那长大的农场探望我的父母。我在屋外漫步，沉浸在“家”的舒适感觉中——当时我真的很需要家的慰藉。我习惯了加利福尼亚州南部那阳光明媚的早晨，艾奥瓦州清晨凛冽的空气使我的鼻子、耳朵和没戴手套的双手感到一阵阵冰冷的刺痛。

　　With my father’s fleece-lined jacket wrapped around me, and my hands snuggled deep in its well-worn pockets, I meandered around the spacious homestead when the unexpected sweet scent of lilacs suddenly called to me. Turning toward the bountiful hedge of lilacs in the distance, I spotted what looked like blooms. I hurried over.
　 我穿着父亲的一件羊毛衬里的夹克，把它裹得紧紧的，然后把手深深插进它那残破的口袋里，漫步在广袤的农场上。这时，一阵紫丁花香意外地扑鼻而来。我转过头去，看到远处围栏边一丛丛茂密的紫丁香似乎在怒放。我赶紧跑了过去。

　　The lavenderlilacs were indeed in glorious bloom! I pulled a plentiful clump to my face and inhaled the intoxicating scent, as I had done every springtime throughout my childhood. A warm delight seeped through my chilled bones, and I smiled at the thought that spring had arrived!
　　淡紫色的丁香花的确在灿烂地怒放着！我拉过一大束，凑到面前，尽情地闻着那令人陶醉的花香——童年的时候，每年春天，我都会这样闻闻紫丁香。一股温暖的喜悦沁润了我冰冷的身骨。想到春天已经来了，我不禁微笑起来。

　　Strolling back to the house, the promise of springtime—warmth, renewal and beauty—journeyed right along with me.
　　我漫步回家，一路上，春天的征兆——温暖、万物复苏和美丽一直萦绕在我心头。

　　My father sat at the kitchen table, poring over the morning market reports.
　　父亲正坐在厨房的餐桌前，出神地看着早晨股市播报。

　　“It’s spring! The lilacs are in bloom!” I joyously announced.
　　“春天来了！紫丁香花盛开了！”我欢欣雀跃地宣布。

　　“Lilacs in bloom or not, it isn’t spring until winter is gone,” he contradicted. “We’ll get a bit of cold weather yet.”
　　“不管紫丁香开不开花，只有冬天过去了，才是春天，”父亲反驳说，“寒冷的天气还要持续一段时间呢。”