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花坛里的小紫芽
以前我觉得春天是课文里的词。书上说春回大地，可是我们这里的大地一年四季都是灰黄的，有什么可回的。改变是从三月一个星期一早晨开始的。
那天我来得早，书包还没放下，路过教学楼旁边的花坛。花坛是水泥围的，里面堆着去年冬天枯掉的月季枝。我蹲下去系鞋带，忽然看见枯枝底下顶出来一个小小的芽，紫红色，比指甲盖还小，边上卷着，像攥紧的小拳头。我喊同桌来看，他看了一眼说，就是个芽嘛。我说它昨天肯定没有，昨天我找橡皮也蹲在这里过。其实我不知道它到底是哪天冒出来的，但我确定它昨天没有这么高。
从那天起我每天早上都蹲下去看它。星期三，小拳头松开一点了，能看见里面是两片叶子。星期五，它蹿高了一截，紫色退了，变成绿的。我把这件事记在铅笔盒的盖子里面，用铅笔写：芽，星期一，紫的。我怕忘了，忘了就没人知道它是什么时候来的。
春风是走路的时候撞上的。有一天放学，我不走楼道，绕到操场边上抄近路。风从东边过来，拂在脸上，不冷，也不热，像有人用手背轻轻碰了一下你的脸就走了。我站在跑道上让风又吹了一遍，头发被吹到耳朵后面。地上没有叶子被吹起来，可是风就是春天，我那时候忽然明白了这件事。
最盼的是体育课。体育老师把队伍带到操场，说今天放风筝。我们班的风筝是学校器材室那两只旧的，一只燕子，一只老鹰，尾巴都短了一截。轮到我放的时候我举着燕子跑，它一头栽下去，撞在草坪上。后来是体育老师帮我举，他说别跑太快，等风。我站着不动，等了一会儿，春风真的来了，线在手里一紧，燕子晃了两下就站上去了。它在操场天上悬着，线放出去半圈，老鹰在旁边飞得更高。我们几个轮流握线轴，手心全是汗。
后来那棵紫芽长成了月季的一根新枝，四月底开了第一朵花，粉红的，只有拇指大。全班都有人去看过。我在心得本上写：我喜欢春天，不是因为花好看。是因为芽是自己顶出来的，风筝是等来风才飞起来的，春风是站在原地才撞上的。春天做的事，都是不着急、但是天天在做的事。
The Little Purple Sprout in the Flower Bed
I used to think spring was just a word from our textbooks. The books say spring returns to the earth, but the earth where we live is gray and yellow all four seasons. What is there to return to. The change began on a Monday morning in March.
I arrived early that day, schoolbag still on my back, passing the flower bed beside the teaching building. The bed was edged with cement, filled with the dead rose branches of last winter. I squatted to tie my shoe and suddenly saw, under the dead branches, a tiny sprout pushing up, purple-red, smaller than a fingernail, its edges curled like a little clenched fist. I called my deskmate to look. He glanced and said, it is just a sprout. I said it was certainly not there yesterday, because yesterday I squatted in the same spot looking for my eraser. Actually I did not know which day it had come out, but I was sure it was not this tall yesterday.
From that day I squatted down to look at it every morning. Wednesday: the little fist had loosened, and I could see two leaves inside. Friday: it had shot up a bit, the purple fading into green. I wrote the matter inside my pencil box lid in pencil: sprout, Monday, purple. I was afraid of forgetting, because if I forgot, no one else would know when it had arrived.
The spring wind is something you bump into while walking. One day after school I skipped the stairwell and took the shortcut along the playground. The wind came from the east and brushed my face, not cold, not hot, like someone touching your cheek lightly with the back of a hand and then leaving. I stood on the track and let it blow over me a second time, my hair pushed behind my ears. No leaves lifted off the ground, yet the wind itself was spring. I understood that suddenly, right then.
What I waited for most was P.E. class. The teacher led the line to the playground and said, today we fly kites. Our class kites were the two old ones from the equipment room, one swallow, one eagle, both tails a bit too short. When my turn came, I ran holding the swallow up, and it dived headfirst onto the grass. Then the P.E. teacher held it up for me and said, do not run too fast, wait for the wind. I stood still, and after a while the spring wind really came. The string tightened in my hand, the swallow wobbled twice, then stood up in the sky. It hung over the playground with half the spool let out, the eagle flying higher beside it. Several of us took turns on the spool, our palms all sweaty.
Later that purple sprout grew into a new rose branch, and at the end of April it opened its first flower, pink, no bigger than a thumb. The whole class went to see it. In my reflection notebook I wrote: I like spring not because the flowers are pretty. It is because the sprout pushed itself up, the kite only rose after the wind was waited for, and the spring wind only arrives if you stand still where it blows. Everything spring does is done without hurry, but done every single day.
我和爷爷做的三角风筝
我们这里春天短，两三周就热起来了。别人喜欢春天是因为花，我喜欢春天是因为风筝。只有春天有稳当的风，夏天风是乱的，冬天风太硬，风筝上去就被摔下来。
风筝是爷爷帮我做的。二月最后一个星期天，爷爷从柴房挑了两根竹篾，在院子里烤软了，弯成一个三角形的骨架，用棉线绑住三个角。糊的是我画满铅笔字的旧报纸，我还在上面画了一个歪歪的飞机。爷爷说风筝头要重一点才站得住，就在底边多糊了一层报纸。做完他举起来看，说尾巴不要了，你这个三角形自己稳。
三月第一个周一，我把风筝夹在胳膊底下带到学校。校门口有个小花坛，冬天光秃秃的，那天我看见土里拱出好几个小芽，尖尖的，带着白毛。校工刘爷爷拿着小铲子在旁边松土，说这是去年秋天撒的牵牛花籽，你看着吧，插根绳子它们就顺着爬。我把风筝靠在花坛边看了一会儿芽，差点迟到。
上午第二节课下课是大课间，我们抱着各样的风筝冲操场。我的三角风筝一上场就出了名，因为它旧，报纸上的飞机还缺一只翅膀。轮到我放，我把风筝往天上一送，风正好从教学楼那边过来，拂在脸上，凉丝丝的，校服被吹得鼓起来，像怀里揣了个气球。风筝上去得很顺，在天上稳稳地斜着，线放一下它退一下，再放一下它又高一点。和我同桌的塑料蝴蝶缠在一起一次，他的蝴蝶尾巴挂了个圈，我的风筝没事，爷爷说底边重就是稳。
放学我绕远路走，让春风一路跟着我。走到公交站，风把红领巾吹到肩膀后面；走上天桥，风从栏杆缝里挤上来，把我的裤脚往里吸。我举着风筝走，它在我胳膊底下轻轻扇，好像风在它那边也偷偷试了一下。
那之后每个大课间我都去操场放它。牵牛芽真的顺着刘爷爷插的绳子爬上去了，第一片叶子有心形那么大。我在日记里写：春天有三样东西最靠得住，一是花坛里的芽，你不理它它也长；二是春风，它每天来，不迟到也不早退；三是我的三角风筝，只要风来，它一定上去。爷爷做的风筝，爷爷说稳，是真的稳。
The Kite My Grandpa and I Made
Spring is short where we live, hot again within two or three weeks. Others like spring for the flowers. I like spring for the kites. Only spring has a steady wind. Summer wind is messy, winter wind is too hard, and a kite thrown up by them gets slapped back down.
My grandpa made the kite with me. On the last Sunday of February he picked two bamboo strips from the woodshed, softened them over the yard fire, bent them into a triangle frame, and tied the three corners with cotton thread. The covering was old newspaper already full of my pencil writing, and I drew a crooked airplane on it. Grandpa said the head of a kite must be a little heavy to stand in the sky, so he pasted one extra layer of newspaper along the bottom edge. When it was done he held it up and said, no tail needed, your triangle is steady by itself.
On the first Monday of March I carried the kite under my arm to school. By the school gate there is a small flower bed, bare all winter. That day I saw little sprouts arching out of the soil, pointed, with white fuzz on them. The groundskeeper Grandpa Liu was loosening soil beside it with a small trowel and said these were morning glory seeds sown last autumn, just watch, stick in a string and they will climb along it. I leaned my kite against the flower bed edge and watched the sprouts a while, and was almost late.
The long break came after the second period, and we rushed to the playground hugging all kinds of kites. My triangle became famous right away, because it was old and the airplane on it was missing one wing. When my turn came, I sent the kite up and the wind happened to come from the teaching building side, brushing my face, cool and thin, blowing my school jacket puffed out as if I were hugging a balloon. The kite rose smoothly, leaning steadily in the sky; let the string out once and it settled back a step, let it out again and it climbed. It once got tangled with the plastic butterfly of my deskmate; his butterfly ended with a loop on its tail, my kite was fine. Grandpa had said a heavy bottom edge means steady, and it was true.
After school I walked the long way home, letting the spring wind follow me the whole road. At the bus stop the wind blew my red scarf behind my shoulder; on the footbridge the wind squeezed up through the gaps in the railing and sucked at my trouser cuffs. I walked holding the kite, and it fluttered lightly under my arm, as if the wind were secretly testing it from that side too.
After that I flew it at every long break. The morning glory sprouts really did climb the string Grandpa Liu had stuck in, the first leaf as big as a heart. In my diary I wrote: spring has three things you can truly count on. One is the sprouts in the flower bed, they grow whether you pay attention or not. Two is the spring wind, it comes every day, never late and never early. Three is my triangle kite, whenever the wind arrives it is sure to rise. The kite Grandpa made, the steady kite Grandpa promised, really is steady.
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