Late in the season the world digs in, the fat blossoms

花季将尽的日子里，世界停滞了，肥硕的花朵

hold still for just a moment longer.

再坚持挺立一刻。

Nothing looks satisfied,

一切生物都不尽如人意，

but there is no real reason to move on much further:

却也找不到继续生长的理由：

this isn’t a bad place;

这个状态也不错了；

why not pretend

何不假装

we wished for it?

这就是我们的愿望？

The bushes have learned to live with their haunches.

树丛安于弯曲的拙态

The hydrangea is resigned

绣球花也无意改变自己

to its pale and inconclusive utterances.

惨淡迟疑的话语。

Towards the end of the season

花季临近尾声

it is not bad

保有形体

to have the body. To have experienced joy

也不算太糟。假如欢快无异于

as the mere lifting of hunger

举手之劳

is not to have known it

也仍然是欢愉

less. The tobacco leaves

一丝不少。烟草叶

don’t mind being removed

不在乎是否被收割

to the long racks—all uses are astounding

囤积到长长的烟叶槽里——所有的用途

to the used.

都让被使用者感到震惊。

There are moments in our lives which, threaded, give us heaven—

生命中总有些时刻，编织起来便成就一片天堂——

noon, for instance, or all the single victories

比如说，正午时分，或者引力

of gravity, or the kudzu vine,

所有微小的胜利，还有野葛的藤蔓，

most delicate of manias,

最脆弱的生长狂，

which has pressed its luck

在这个生长季

它已经竭尽所能，

this far this season.

闪烁着得意的亮绿色。

It shines a gloating green.

边缘染上了不耐烦的暗色，仿佛有风掠过。

Its edges darken with impatience, a kind of wind.

再也没有什么如此轻易，生命

Nothing again will ever be this easy, lives

一个个被卷走，好比遗落的针脚，萱草干枯的茎叶

being snatched up like dropped stitches, the dry stalks of daylilies

标记我们无法延长的静谧

marking a stillness we can’t keep.