秋
今日早起赶稿，晌午匆匆赶去花桥修电脑，奔波数个小时，未果。回住处后，午后小憩数小时。醒来觉空乏，遂翻阅一篇文字，阅读静心，并将其转至中文。翻译完毕之后，内心澄澈良多。翻译拙作，详贴于下。
Autumn 秋
By Steve Gilbert
The seasonal shift starts subtly, noiselessly, in mid-August. For months we wake to melodious songbirds, their notes drifting gracefully into open bedroom windows. They arrive in March, whistling welcoming tunes celebrating the onset of spring. They serenade us for months through their cycles of mating, birth and maturation.
八月中旬，季节更迭，节奏细微，无声无息。怀念数月之前，吾等晨醒伴鸟鸣，旋律曼妙，涤荡至卧室窗边。鸣鸟三月飞至，落抵此地，清歌蹄鸣迎春。过往数月，鸣鸟哼鸣夜曲，盛放生命，雌雄交配，幼鸟新生，渐而成熟。
And then, suddenly, one morning they’re gone.
一日清晨，倏忽之间，鸟遁声消。
The solitary songbird whose solo rouses a chorus of thousands in the early dawn absconds. The harmonious transition from crickets to songbirds, night to day, fades without fanfare. The sun, creeping ever more southward on the horizon, now rises in silence.
以往，黎明破晓，一孤莺发声独鸣，顷间附和声四起，绵延不绝；而今，盛景不再。以往，蝈鸣鸟蹄，日夜不歇；如今，寂寥无音。以往，日移动与天际线，更为朝南；而今，日默然而出。
Autumn pokes us gently, at first.
秋日予吾等温柔一戳。
Maybe you notice the changes in light. Late August doesn’t look like early July, even if the temperatures match. The sun pounds you relentlessly in July; the sun sidles up to you in August. Its angles and clarity are deeper, its longer rays saying enjoy me while you can.
汝等或许留意光线之渐变。八月末与七月初，即使温度无差，却感觉有别。七月骄阳炙烤，八月太阳，似羞怯少女，擦肩而过。光线照射角度更深，阳光更为清澈，沐于其中，似有喃喃细语，嘱汝纵情享受。
The temperature dips into the 40s one night, catching you off guard. You wrap yourself in a blanket while sipping morning coffee, listening to the quiet. Where are the birds?
一夜之间，气温骤降，如此猝不及防。此时裹毯防凉，啜饮咖啡，浸于寂静，忽而念起，鸣鸟何在？
