The Life I Pursued
That must be the story of innumerable couples, and the pattern of life it offers has a homely grace. It reminds you of a placid(平靜的，溫和的) rivulet(小溪，小河) , meandering(漫步) smoothly through green pastures and shaded by pleasant trees, till at last it falls into the vastly sea; but the sea is so calm, so silent, so indifferent, that you are troubled suddenly by a vague(模糊的) uneasiness(不安，擔憂) .
Perhaps it is only by a kink(扭結，奇想) in my nature, strong in me even in those days, that I felt in such an existence, the share of the great majority, something amiss(有毛病的，有缺陷的) . I recognized its social value. I saw its ordered happiness, but a fever in my blood asked for a wilder course.
There seemed to me something alarming in such easy delights. In my heart was desire to live more dangerously. I was not unprepared for jagged(鋸齒狀的) rocks and treacherous(奸詐的，叛逆的) , shoals(淺灘，沙洲) it I could only have change-change and the excitement of unforeseen.
Just Two For Breakfast
When my husband and I celebrated our 38th wedding anniversary at our favorite restaurant, Lenny, the piano player, asked, “How did you do it?”
I knew there was no simple answer, but as the weekend approached, I wondered if one reason might be our ritual(儀式，慣例) of breakfast in bed every Saturday and Sunday.
It all started with the breakfast tray my mother gave us as a wedding gift. It had a glass top and slatted(用板條做的) wooden side pockets for the morning paper the kind you used to see in the movies. Mother loved her movies, and although she rarely had breakfast in bed, she held high hopes for her daughter. My adoring bridegroom took the message to heart.
Feeling guilty, I suggested we take turns. Despite grumblings(發牢騷) — “hate crumbs(面包屑) in my bed” —Sunday morning found my spouse eagerly awaiting his tray. Soon these weekend breakfasts became such a part of our lives that I never even thought about them. I only knew we treasured this separate, blissful time read, relax, forget the things we should remember.
Sifting(過濾，篩選) through the years, I recalled how our weekends changed,but that we still preserved the ritual. We started our family (as new parents, we slept after breakfast more than we read), but we always found our way back to where we started, just two for breakfast, one on Saturday and one on Sunday.
When we had more time, my tray became more festive. First it was fruit slices placed in geometric(幾何學的) pattern; then came flowers from our garden times just one blossom sprouting(發芽) from a grapefruit half. This arranger(曲作家) of mine had developed a flair for decorating, using everything from amaryllis(喇叭花) to the buds of a maple tree. My husband said my cooking inspired him. Mother would have approved. Perhaps it was the Saturday when the big strawberry wore a daisy hat that I began to think, how can I top this? One dark winter night I woke with a vision of a snowman on a tray. That Sunday I scooped a handful of snow and in no time had my man made. With a flourish I put a miniature pinecone(松果，松球) on his head.
As I delivered the tray, complete with a nicely frozen snowman, I waited for a reaction. There was none but as I headed down the stairs I heard a whoop of laughter and then, “You’ve won! Yes, sir, you’ve won the prize!”
The Sea at Dawn 黎明時分的大海
They shuddered with cold, and ran down the road to the bridge. There, warm, they started walking hand in hand.
A flush came into the sky. The waned moon, halfway down the west, sank intoinsignificance. On the shadowy land, things began to take life, and plants with great leaves became clear. They came to the beach. The long wastes of shore lay moaning under the dawn and the sea; the ocean was a flat dark strip with a white edge. Over the gloomy sea the sky was red. Quickly the fire spread among the clouds and scattered them. Crimson burned to orange, orange to dull gold, and in the golden glitter the sun rose. The sea became glistening, as if someone had gone along with a bucket and the light had spilled from it as she walked.
The breakers ran down the shore in long, hoarse strokes. Tiny seagulls, like little spray, wheeled above the line of surf. Their crying seemed larger than their bodies. Far away the coast reached, melt into the morning. The tussocky sand hills seemed to sink to a level with the beach. On this shore only they watched the sea and the rising sun, and heard the faint water and the sharp crying of the gulls.