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◎ Bertrand Russell
landscape looks forsaken3, with hills, sky and forest forming a single graymeld, like the wash an artist
paints on a canvas before the masterwork. My spirits ebb4, as they did during an April snowfall when I
first came to Maine 15 years ago. “Just wait,” a neighbor counseled. “You’ll wake up one morning
and spring will just be here.”
And look, on May 3 that year I awoke to a green so startling as to be almost electric, as if spring
were simply a matter of flipping5 a switch. Hills, sky and forest revealed their purples, blues6 and
green. Leaves had unfurled, goldfinches had arrived at the feeder and daffodils were fighting their
way heavenward.
Then there was the old apple tree. It sits on an undeveloped lot in my neighborhood. It belongs
Each spring it blossoms so profusely9 that the air becomes saturated10 with the aroma11 of apple. When I
drive by with my windows rolled down, it gives me the feeling of moving in another element, like a
kid on a water slide.
Until last year, I thought I was the only one aware of this tree. And then one day, in a fit of
arrived under its boughs13 than neighbors opened their windows and stepped onto their porches. These
personal gardens.
My mobile home neighbor was the first to speak. “You’re not cutting it down, are you?”
Another neighbor winced15 as I lopped off a branch. “Don’t kill it, now,” he cautioned. Soon half the
neighborhood had joined me under the apple arbor16. It struck me that I had lived there for five years
and only now was learning these people’s names, what they did for a living and how they passed the
acquaintanceship and shared wonder. I couldn’t help recalling Robert Frost’s words:
The trees that have it in their pent-up buds
To darken nature and be summer woods
One thaw led to another. Just the other day I saw one of my neighbors at the local store. He
remarked how this recent winter had been especially long and lamented19 not having seen or spoken at
length to anyone in our neighborhood. And then, recouping his thoughts, he looked at me and said,
每年4月我总是被同一个念头困扰着——今年的春天可能不会再来了吧。四周的景色看起
来一片凄凉，小山、天空和森林灰蒙蒙的，就像艺术家的名画尚未完成之前画布上的底色一
般。我的情绪十分低落，就像15年前我初次来到缅因州，迎来一次4月的降雪那样。“只有等
等看了，”一个邻居劝我，“说不定哪一天你一觉醒来，春天已经来临了。”
果不其然，那年的5月3日，当我醒来时，发现屋外绿意逼人，简直让人惊异，春天好像
开了闸一般突然间就来到了眼前。小山、天空和森林姹紫嫣红，展示出它们的蓝色和绿色。
树叶舒展开来，黄雀翩翩飞来觅食，黄水仙也朝天竞相生长。
同时，还有那棵老苹果树。它耸立在我家旁边的一块荒地中。它不属于任何人，所以也
就归每个人所有。苹果树乌黑扭曲的枝条因未经修剪而恣意蔓生。每年春天，它便蓬勃绽开
花蕾，空气中弥漫着苹果花的芳香。当我开着车窗驱车经过之时，它让我觉得仿佛到了另一
个天地，像一个孩子在乘坐水滑梯一样。
直到去年为止，我还以为只有我意识到了这棵树的存在。后来有一天，在一个明朗的春
天引起的疯狂中，我拿着整枝器和修枝剪，想除去一些杂乱无章的树枝。我刚站到树下，邻
居们就纷纷打开窗户，或者走到门廊上。这些人我几乎都不认识，也很少说过话，但眼前这
情形就像我未经允许擅自闯进他们的私家花园一样。
一位住在活动房中的邻居第一个发言：“你不是要砍倒它吧？”当我砍掉一条树枝的时
候，另一个邻居心疼得跟什么似的。“喂，别把它弄死了。”他警告道。很快，附近几乎一半
的人都跑过来，和我一起站在了树荫下。我突然意识到我已经在这儿住了五年，直到现在我
才开始了解这些人的名字，他们是如何谋生的，他们是如何过冬的。好像这棵老苹果树把我
们召集到树下是为了双重目的：为了让我们彼此认识，以及共享自然的美妙。这时，我不禁
回忆起罗伯特·弗罗斯特的诗句：
春树幽闭的芽中藏着碧绿
即将长成荫荫夏木和幽幽树林
那次融洽的交流开了个好头。就在几天前，我在附近的店里看见一个邻居在购物。他说
去年冬天特别漫长，无不遗憾地感慨长时间在这附近见不到邻居，也没跟他们说过话。然
后，他又想了一下，看着我说：“我们需要再给那棵苹果树修修枝了。”
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