“As I come over the hill， I hear the wood thrush singing his evening lay. This is the only bird whose note affects me like music， affects the flow and tenor of my thoughts， my fancy and imagination. It lifts and exhilarates me…It is a medicative draught to my soul. It is an elixir to my eyes and a fountain of youth to all my senses…”— Henry David Thoreau， Journal， 22 June 1853

The time is 4：24 a.m. I sit upright in bed， awakened by an inspirational choir that has just burst into sound. Vacationing in the woods of northern Vermont， Ive taken a summer sojourn back to the temperate forests of my childhood. I was entitled to sleep until noon as the obvious privilege of vacation. But late sleepers in the short New England summer miss one of the best musical events of the year. The red-breasted robin is the first songster on natures program. Greeting the pre-dawn with a melodious， cheerful message， it reminds all of the forest denizens that sunrise is imminent. The robins instinctive timeclock is accurate within seconds： Slivers of pink and red soon slice across the dark sky， interspersed with fingers of mist rising from last evenings thundershower. Soon， that dawn harbinger is joined by a couple of other robins， a trio in full song. As if not to be outdone， the white-throated sparrows join in. Their lyrical solos echo， “Oh sweet Canada， Canada”. One of my favorite voices of nature， this poignant song instead says to me， “Oh， back homeagain， home-again.” It is comforting that， almost two centuries after Thoreau described New England songbirds， their melodies have remained remarkably true over time.

Within ten minutes of the robins wake-up lyrics， the entire hillside chorus is in full sound—red-eyed vireo， house wren， bluebird， goldfinch， ovenbird， song sparrow. By now， Im awestruck and wide awake—no going back to bed now. Close at hand， a gang of crows engage in a raucous exchange， perhaps vying for a tidbit of breakfast along a nearby road. They disrupt the lyrical sensation of the dawn chorus， but add a bit of humor， like sandwiching a clown act into the program of my otherwise elegant symphony.

By 5 a.m.， all the musicians are in full song. Suddenly the forest quiets for a brief lull. One new voice takes center stage. Its flutelike song and resplendent trills fill every hollow of the forest， sending chills down my spine. The other birds pause，as if paying tribute to this exquisite soloist. Its speckled breast and reddish brown back provide fairly ordinary coloration for the star of the show， but perhaps serve as excellent camouflage for a nesting parent. Despite its nondescript costume， the wood thrush proclaims in song that this is the most special moment of its life. Anyone who is fortunate enough to listen to a wood thrush or to its cousins， the hermit or Swainsons thrushes， cannot help but preserve that moment in their memories forever. Both were singing together in my Vermont dawn chorus.

In my home state of California， our dawn chorus is very different. Living near the San Francisco Bay， but also adjacent to a pond， I am awakened in summer by red-winged blackbirds interspersed with gulls and sometimes the odd western scrub-jay.

After hearing the wood thrush in the spruce boughs of Vermont， my annual pilgrimage back to childhood was complete. Like an opera buff， I am willing to travel great distances to hear my favorite singers. By mid-morning， the forest is relatively quiet. Having faithfully announced the new day， my feathered musical troupe moved from song to other activities—nest-building， tending to their young， foraging for food， and perhaps defending their babies from marauders. There is something inspirational， almost regal， about the dawn chorus. Birds celebrate each new day with great optimism. But after a stunning performance， they return to the business of survival.

Why do birds sing？ Is it an expression of happiness invoked by these feathered balls of fluff flitting about the forest？ Or is it survival of the fittest manifested as a competition for the best voice？ Is it a physical mechanism to define territorial imperative？ Ornithologists remind us that bird songs are part of complex behavioral patterns， and they have dedicated extensive research to their variation and function. Technical science aside， I feel very privileged to have had a front-row seat for what is truly one of Mother Natures best concerts of the season.

“我走到山上，聽(tīng)到一只畫(huà)眉正在為黃昏詠詩(shī)。只有這種鳥(niǎo)兒的歌聲觸動(dòng)了我，如同音樂(lè)一般，影響了我的思緒、幻想、想象，使我感到快樂(lè)、愉悅……如同一股溫暖的氣流涌進(jìn)我的靈魂深處。這是治愈我雙眼的良藥，是喚醒我所有感官的青春之泉……”——亨利·大衛(wèi)·梭羅，《日記》，1853年6月22日

現(xiàn)在是凌晨4點(diǎn)24分，我被一陣剛爆發(fā)的振奮大合唱喚醒，直直地坐在床上。我正在北佛蒙特州度假，回到我的兒時(shí)舊地——?dú)夂驕睾偷纳侄冗^(guò)今夏。一覺(jué)睡到大中午是我這個(gè)在享受假期的人的特權(quán)。但睡懶覺(jué)的人會(huì)錯(cuò)過(guò)在新英格蘭短暫的夏季中最棒的年度音樂(lè)盛會(huì)之一。紅胸知更鳥(niǎo)是這場(chǎng)大自然盛會(huì)的第一位歌者。它以一段優(yōu)美愉悅的旋律向黎明問(wèn)好，告訴所有的森林居民太陽(yáng)即將升起。知更鳥(niǎo)的天然生物鐘無(wú)比準(zhǔn)確，不一會(huì)兒，黑暗的天空中便出現(xiàn)了一道道粉紅、深紅的朝霞。前一晚的雷陣雨生成點(diǎn)點(diǎn)薄霧飄到上空，點(diǎn)綴著朝霞。很快，其他一些知更鳥(niǎo)也加入到這位黎明先知的演唱中，湊成響亮的三重唱。白喉麻雀似乎也不甘落后，加入其中。它們那熱情洋溢的獨(dú)奏在林間回蕩，“噢，可愛(ài)的加拿大，加拿大”。這是我最喜愛(ài)的大自然聲音之一，這把嘹亮的歌喉隨之對(duì)我說(shuō)，“噢，重返故土，故土。”在梭羅描述新英格蘭的鳥(niǎo)鳴幾近兩個(gè)世紀(jì)后，它們的歌聲并沒(méi)有隨著時(shí)間的流逝而有所失色，這令人感到欣慰。

在知更鳥(niǎo)唱起喚醒之歌的十分鐘內(nèi)，整個(gè)山坡便響起了大合唱——紅眼綠鵑、鷦鷯、青鳥(niǎo)、金翅雀、灶巢鳥(niǎo)、北美歌雀紛紛加入其中。此刻，我心底生出一股敬畏之情，頭腦十分清醒，不打算再睡回籠覺(jué)。一群烏鴉出現(xiàn)在我眼前，向彼此發(fā)出嘶啞的叫吼聲，也許是在爭(zhēng)奪附近道路上的精美早餐。它們擾亂了富有詩(shī)意的黎明大合唱，卻為之增添了一絲幽默，就像把一個(gè)小丑放在了一場(chǎng)原本很高雅的交響樂(lè)中。

到了凌晨5點(diǎn)，所有的音樂(lè)家都在高聲歌唱。突然，整個(gè)森林陷入了短暫的寂靜。一種新的聲音占領(lǐng)了舞臺(tái)中心。那類(lèi)似長(zhǎng)笛的歌聲以及華麗的顫音充滿(mǎn)了森林的每個(gè)角落，使我興奮得脊柱發(fā)顫。其他的鳥(niǎo)兒都停止了歌唱，仿佛在向這位技藝高超的獨(dú)唱者致敬。他是對(duì)的。作為一位表演明星，它那點(diǎn)綴著斑點(diǎn)的胸脯和紅棕色的背部似乎太過(guò)平凡無(wú)奇，但作為需要筑巢的父母，這身外衣也許是上佳的保護(hù)色。盡管畫(huà)眉鳥(niǎo)的外衣平凡無(wú)奇，但它放聲歌唱的那刻卻是其一生中最特別的時(shí)刻。任何有幸聽(tīng)到畫(huà)眉或它的堂親（隱蜂鳥(niǎo)，又稱(chēng)斯溫氏夜鶇）歌聲的人都會(huì)不由自主地把這一刻永久保存在記憶中。而這兩種鳥(niǎo)都在我的佛蒙特州黎明大合唱里一同歌唱。

在我的家鄉(xiāng)加利福尼亞州，破曉的鳥(niǎo)鳴聲截然不同。住在舊金山灣，鄰近一個(gè)池塘，在夏天，我是被紅翅黑鸝以及海鷗的歌聲叫醒的，有時(shí)還混雜著一只西叢鴉的叫聲。

聽(tīng)過(guò)駐足在佛蒙特州云杉枝干上的畫(huà)眉鳥(niǎo)的歌聲后，我一年一度的童年朝圣之行也就完成了。像一個(gè)歌劇“發(fā)燒友”一樣，我愿意跨越千里，只為聽(tīng)到最喜歡的歌手的演唱。到了早上十點(diǎn)左右，森林變得相對(duì)安靜。在誠(chéng)心誠(chéng)意地宣告了新一天的來(lái)臨后，我的鳥(niǎo)兒歌唱團(tuán)從唱歌轉(zhuǎn)移到了其他活動(dòng)上——筑巢、照顧幼鳥(niǎo)、覓食、或是與掠奪者斗爭(zhēng)以保護(hù)幼鳥(niǎo)。鳥(niǎo)兒的黎明大合唱有振奮人心，甚至是莊嚴(yán)的一面。鳥(niǎo)兒以積極的態(tài)度迎接新的每一天。但在一場(chǎng)精彩絕倫的表演后，它們又會(huì)回歸到日常生活中去。

鳥(niǎo)兒為什么歌唱？這是這些在森林里翱翔的毛絨絨圓球表達(dá)幸福的一種方式？還是一場(chǎng)“適者生存”的競(jìng)爭(zhēng)，為“最好聲音”的美稱(chēng)而一爭(zhēng)高下？抑或是一場(chǎng)爭(zhēng)奪領(lǐng)土的搏斗？鳥(niǎo)類(lèi)學(xué)家告訴我們，鳥(niǎo)的叫聲是一種復(fù)雜的行為模式，他們已為鳥(niǎo)鳴的多樣性及其功能進(jìn)行了大量研究。撇開(kāi)科學(xué)不談，我為自己能坐在前排近距離聆聽(tīng)大自然最棒的其中一場(chǎng)夏季音樂(lè)會(huì)而感到無(wú)比榮幸。

我希望您的面包病好了

I was making rolls and， needing a warm place for the dough to rise， put the bowl in a heating pad. Then I left the house on an errand（使命，差事） . When I came back， I found this note from my son： “Dear Mom， I hope your bread gets better.”

我在做面包，需要把面團(tuán)放在一個(gè)暖和點(diǎn)的地方使它發(fā)起來(lái)。我把面盆放在電熱褥里，后來(lái)就出去干別的活去了。等我回家時(shí)，發(fā)現(xiàn)兒子留下一張紙條，上面寫(xiě)著：“親愛(ài)的媽媽?zhuān)蚁Ｍ拿姘呀?jīng)病好了。”