王躍花

I did not hear the dogs bark of the landlord. The garden was very quiet. The unknown white floret was still lonely open. The sun shone on the flower trees of the pine and pots， and the green leaves were painted with golden yellow. It was sunny. I did not have to lift my eyes to know over my head was the blue sky.

Suddenly I heard the sound of a bell on the trench， and looked up， seeing two squirrels slipping down from the tile. The two creatures chased each other on the pine branches. Their velvet ball-like big tails， their lovely little black eyes， and their little bells on the neck attracted my attention. I looked out of the window with all my eyes. After running two or three turns， they returned to the roof tile from the vines， and then disappeared in a flash， still leaving the silence of the garden to me.

I just buried my head and then heard the birds tweet. I looked again， noticing a gray white-headed bird was on the cassia tree branches， raising his head proudly singing. There was also a pair of sparrows， speaking ceaselessly on the light line of the roof.

I failed to understand what they were saying. But I could feel the leisure and joy from their sound. Maybe they were telling me that they were happy enough. But， unfortunately， I could not answer them. I waved my hand， and they flew away， leaving the silence of the garden to me. I knew they would come back for a while.

I， then， became the only creature in this garden. I sat down at the desk and bowed my head to write， no sound to disturb me. I could focus my attention on writing. But I gradually became upset. This silence， like a hand， was slowly approaching my throat. I felt bored. This was a kind of unnatural silence. This is a harbinger of scourge， just like the kind of boring static air before the arrival of the storm.

I seemed to be waiting for something. I had an uneasy feeling. I was waiting for the air raid alarm； or I was waiting for the landlords dog barking.

But my waiting was useless. The birds came back but went again. The squirrels came once， but chased on the roof. I had no idea where they disappeared. Then I heard the cawing of crows on the roof of the building. These small creatures were blind to the things of human world， so they would not bring me any information.

When I finished writing the above paragraph， the air raid alarm rang. My waiting did not fail. At that moment， I felt even the air was moving. I heard the car beep on the street. I heard the engine sound of the aircraft， which is probably a civil aircraft flying out to avoid the possible attack. Sometimes our pursuit planes would also line up at this time， ready to attack the enemy. I could not write. So I took a book， locked the garden door， and rushed outside.

After a terrible push and squeeze at the gate， I finally got to the suburb， where I spent more than two hours， together with several friends， having the lunch on the grass. After the alarm was lifted， I came back， opened the lock， and pushed the garden door. In front of me， was still the garden of silence.

I went back to the room， returned to my desk， opened the window， and did not forget to look out of the window before proceeding. Everywhere was full of sunshine， on trees， on the ground， and every corner of the garden. A cluster of Guanyin bamboo was slightly fluttering their sharp leaves. A big fly with a buzz came into my room from the open window and hovered on my head. One or two crows were cawing in my invisible place. A yellow butterfly was flying between white flowers. Suddenly a strange voice on the opposite house tile sounded； they are the two squirrels， dripping down from the wall along the iron pipe. They went onto the wooden frame that supported the pine tree and went under the stone railing of the pond at the foot of the frame， where they chased for a while and ran along the wooden frame onto the pine branches， and finally hid behind the pine leaves. Pine leaves moved； twigs of the laurel also moved， where a green bird had just rested.

I still could not hear the dogs bark. I turned to the right to look at the narrow aisle without sunshine. The landlord door was tightly closed. There was no sound at all. Probably the family went outside the city to avoid the danger early in the morning， and had not come back. That fat yellow dog must have also followed them； otherwise I could hear the dog scratching at the door.

I sat in the window and wrote many words. Only the cawing of crows and the tweeting of birds accompanied me. The buzz of the flies was already gone. In the corner of the house， a mouse was making an intermittent sound of eating things. I felt lonely in this bombing-threaten city.

Suddenly， a plane sounded loudly， like a knife to cut the clear sky. That was our own plane. How magnificent the sound was； it swept away the silence of the garden. I put down my pen and went to the courtyard to see the sky， to see the big gray dragonflies. How beautiful the scenery was.