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雨滴敲门，伞开花
滴答，滴答，是谁在敲我的窗？是雨滴，一排一排的小雨滴，排着队，在玻璃上滑滑梯。我把手掌贴上去，凉凉的，痒痒的，好像跟一万个小雨滴握了手。
滴答，滴答，雨滴落到院子里，落到水洼里，水洼就开出一圈一圈的小花。开一朵，破一朵，破一朵，又开一朵。整个院子都是透明的花，风一吹，花就晃，晃得我心里也痒起来。我穿上鞋，冲出去，站在屋檐下看花。
雨越下越密，伞就一朵一朵地开了。巷口开出一朵红的，街角开出一朵蓝的，校门口最热闹，红的黄的花的，挤成一丛会走路的蘑菇。我的小红伞也开了，撑在我头顶，像一小片会移动的天空。
雨滴打在伞面上，咚咚咚，像谁在敲小鼓。我数着拍子走路，一步一个水花，一步一个音符。水洼里的青蛙也来伴奏，呱呱，呱呱。我的雨鞋咕叽咕叽，给整条街打拍子。雨天不吵，雨天是一支乐队。
放学的时候，雨帘里有一个影子踮着脚张望。是妈妈。她的伞歪在一边，半边肩膀是湿的，可她一看见我，就笑了。那个笑脸，在灰蒙蒙的雨里亮起来，像谁点了一盏灯。
我钻进伞底下，牵住她的手。伞往我这边斜了斜，她的肩膀更湿了，可她的笑脸更近了。滴答，滴答，雨滴还在唱歌，咚咚，咚咚，伞面还在打鼓，而我们俩的脚步，咕叽，咕叽，是这首歌里最慢也最暖的一段。
后来很多个雨天，我都会想起那把歪着的伞，想起水洼里开不完的花，想起雨帘里那个踮脚的笑脸。雨会停，伞会收，笑脸却留在雨里，一直亮着，一直亮着，像一颗不会生锈的星星。
滴答，滴答。你听，又是雨滴敲门了。我趴在窗台上，隔着玻璃跟它们打招呼：小雨滴，欢迎你们，再来我家窗上，滑一次滑梯。
Raindrops Knock, Umbrellas Bloom
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, who is knocking at my window? Raindrops, rows of little raindrops, lining up to slide down the glass. I press my palm against it — cool, ticklish — as if I have shaken hands with ten thousand little raindrops.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The drops fall into the yard, fall into the puddles, and the puddles bloom with ring after ring of tiny flowers. One blooms, one bursts; one bursts, another blooms. The whole yard is full of transparent flowers, and when the wind blows they sway until my heart itches too. I put on my shoes and run out to watch them from under the eaves.
The rain grows thicker, and umbrella after umbrella opens. A red one blooms at the lane mouth, a blue one at the street corner, and the school gate is the busiest of all — red, yellow, floral, pressed together like a cluster of walking mushrooms. My little red umbrella opens too, held above my head, a small moving patch of sky.
Raindrops drum on the umbrella, dong-dong-dong, as if someone were beating a little drum. I walk keeping time, one step one splash, one step one note. The frogs in the puddles join in, croak, croak. My rain boots go squelch, squelch, beating time for the whole street. A rainy day is not noisy; a rainy day is a band.
At dismissal, a shadow in the curtain of rain stands on tiptoe, looking for me. It is Mother. Her umbrella tilts to one side, half her shoulder is wet, but the moment she sees me she smiles. That smiling face lights up inside the gray rain, like someone striking a lamp.
I duck under the umbrella and take her hand. The umbrella tilts a little more toward me, her shoulder grows wetter, but her smile grows closer. Pitter-patter, the raindrops keep singing; dong-dong, the umbrella keeps drumming; and our two pairs of feet, squelch, squelch, are the slowest, warmest passage of the song.
On many rainy days afterward I remember that tilted umbrella, the flowers that never finished blooming in the puddles, the smiling face on tiptoe in the rain. The rain stops, the umbrella folds, but the smile stays behind in the rain, shining and shining, a star that will never rust.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Listen, the raindrops are knocking again. I lie on the windowsill and greet them through the glass: little raindrops, welcome back — slide down my window one more time.
雨天清单
下雨天，我有一张清单，藏在心里，念给雨听。
第一项，听雨滴。雨滴是天上派来的鼓手，落在瓦上是咚咚，落在叶上是沙沙，落在水洼里是叮咚，落在我的伞上是噼噼啪啪，给我一个人敲。它们从那么高的地方跳下来，一点也不怕，落地还开花。我要学它们，做勇敢的小鼓手。
第二项，数伞。校门口是伞的海洋：红的、蓝的、绿条纹的、印着小鸭子的。伞是会走路的小房子，走到哪儿，哪儿就有一小块干地方。我的伞是黄色的小房子，房顶上老打滑，雨滴排着队从房檐出溜下来，哧溜，哧溜，比滑滑梯还快。
第三项，照镜子。水洼是雨天发给每个人的镜子，就是有点晃。我踩一脚，镜子里的我碎成好几瓣，等它慢慢拼回来，再踩一脚。同桌笑我傻。傻就傻，雨天不踩水洼，难道等大太阳吗？
第四项，找笑脸。这个最难，也最好找。难的是雨帘子挡着，得踮起脚；好找的是，只要往校门口望，总有一张笑脸在雨里等着我。今天是我奶奶，昨天是妈妈，前天是举着伞转圈等我的爸爸。他们的笑脸一出现，雨就小了一半。
第五项，留声音。我把耳朵贴在教室的窗玻璃上，把雨声录进脑子里：沙沙的是远处的树，哗哗的是近处的檐，嗒、嗒、嗒的是最后几滴犹豫的雨，它们在挑落脚的地方。回到家我还闭眼回放了一遍，一点没走音。这些声音不收好，天晴就找不回来了。
清单念完了，雨还没停。没关系，我把清单折好，放进书包最里面，跟课本挨着。明天要是还下雨，就再念一遍；要是雨停了，清单也不作废——我会把它念给太阳听，告诉它：今天这些雨滴、这些伞、这些笑脸，我都收好了，一件也没丢。
你也有清单吗？借你抄一项：找一张雨天里的笑脸。这一项，老师不检查，家长不签字，可它是整张清单里，最暖的一项。
A Checklist for Rainy Days
On rainy days I keep a checklist, hidden in my heart, read aloud to the rain.
Item one: listen to the raindrops. Raindrops are drummers sent down from the sky. On the tiles they go dong-dong, on leaves they go shh-shh, in puddles they go plink-plonk, and on my umbrella they go pitter-patter, drumming just for me. They jump down from so high without a bit of fear, and when they land they even bloom. I want to learn from them and be a brave little drummer.
Item two: count the umbrellas. The school gate is a sea of umbrellas: red, blue, green-striped, one printed with little ducks. Umbrellas are walking little houses; wherever they go, a small dry place goes with them. Mine is a yellow little house whose roof is always slippery — raindrops slide off the eaves one after another, whoosh, whoosh, faster than any slide.
Item three: look in the mirror. Puddles are mirrors the rain hands out to everyone, just a little wobbly. I stomp once, and the me in the mirror shatters into pieces; I wait for it to piece itself back together, then stomp again. My deskmate calls me silly. Silly so what — if I do not splash in puddles on a rainy day, am I supposed to wait for the blazing sun?
Item four: find a smiling face. This one is the hardest and the easiest. Hard because the curtain of rain blocks the view and you must stand on tiptoe; easy because whenever you look toward the school gate, some smiling face is always waiting for you in the rain. Today it was my grandmother, yesterday my mother, the day before my father, spinning in circles under his umbrella. The moment their smile appears, the rain goes half as small.
Item five: keep the sounds. I press my ear to the classroom window glass and record the rain into my mind: the shh-shh is the distant trees, the rush-rush is the eaves up close, and the tap, tap, tap is the last few hesitant raindrops choosing where to land. At home I replay it all with my eyes closed, not one note out of tune. If these sounds are not put away safely, they cannot be found again once the sky clears.
The checklist is read, and the rain has not stopped. That is fine. I fold the list up, tuck it into the deepest pocket of my schoolbag beside my textbooks. If it rains tomorrow, I will read it again; if the sun comes out, the list does not expire — I will read it to the sun and tell it: all these raindrops, these umbrellas, these smiling faces, I have put them away, not one lost.
Do you have a checklist? Let me lend you one item: find a smiling face on a rainy day. No teacher checks this item, no parent signs it — yet it is the warmest item on the whole list.
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