鳥兒的黎明大合唱

“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，聽到一只畫眉正在為黃昏詠詩。只有這種鳥兒的歌聲觸動了我，如同音樂一般，影響了我的思緒、幻想、想象，使我感到快樂、愉悅……如同一股溫暖的氣流涌進我的靈魂深處。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，回到我的兒時舊地——氣候溫和的森林度過今夏。一覺睡到大中午是我這個在享受假期的人的特權。但睡懶覺的人會錯過在新英格蘭短暫的夏季中最棒的年度音樂盛會之一。紅胸知更鳥是這場大自然盛會的第一位歌者。它以一段優(yōu)美愉悅的旋律向黎明問好，告訴所有的森林居民太陽即將升起。知更鳥的天然生物鐘無比準確，不一會兒，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點薄霧飄到上空，點綴著朝霞。很快，其他一些知更鳥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奏在林間回蕩，“噢，可愛的加拿大，加拿大”。這是我最喜愛的大自然聲音之一，這把嘹亮的歌喉隨之對我說，“噢，重返故土，故土?！痹谒罅_描述新英格蘭的鳥鳴幾近兩個世紀后，它們的歌聲并沒有隨著時間的流逝而有所失色，這令人感到欣慰。

在知更鳥唱起喚醒之歌的十分鐘內，整個山坡便響起了大合唱——紅眼綠鵑、鷦鷯、青鳥、金翅雀、灶巢鳥、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。一群烏鴉出現(xiàn)在我眼前，向彼此發(fā)出嘶啞的叫吼聲，也許是在爭奪附近道路上的精美早餐。它們擾亂了富有詩意的黎明大合唱，卻為之增添了一絲幽默，就像把一個小丑放在了一場原本很高雅的交響樂中。

到了凌晨5點，所有的音樂家都在高聲歌唱。突然，整個森林陷入了短暫的寂靜。一種新的聲音占領了舞臺中心。那類似長笛的歌聲以及華麗的顫音充滿了森林的每個角落，使我興奮得脊柱發(fā)顫。其他的鳥兒都停止了歌唱，仿佛在向這位技藝高超的獨唱者致敬。他是對的。作為一位表演明星，它那點綴著斑點的胸脯和紅棕色的背部似乎太過平凡無奇，但作為需要筑巢的父母，這身外衣也許是上佳的保護色。盡管畫眉鳥的外衣平凡無奇，但它放聲歌唱的那刻卻是其一生中最特別的時刻。任何有幸聽到畫眉或它的堂親（隱蜂鳥，又稱斯溫氏夜鶇）歌聲的人都會不由自主地把這一刻永久保存在記憶中。而這兩種鳥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，破曉的鳥鳴聲截然不同。住在舊金山灣，鄰近一個池塘，在夏天，我是被紅翅黑鸝以及海鷗的歌聲叫醒的，有時還混雜著一只西叢鴉的叫聲。

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

鳥兒為什么歌唱？這是這些在森林里翱翔的毛絨絨圓球表達幸福的一種方式？還是一場“適者生存”的競爭，為“最好聲音”的美稱而一爭高下？抑或是一場爭奪領土的搏斗？鳥類學家告訴我們，鳥的叫聲是一種復雜的行為模式，他們已為鳥鳴的多樣性及其功能進行了大量研究。撇開科學不談，我為自己能坐在前排近距離聆聽大自然最棒的其中一場夏季音樂會而感到無比榮幸。

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，需要把面團放在一個暖和點的地方使它發(fā)起來。我把面盆放在電熱褥里，后來就出去干別的活去了。等我回家時，發(fā)現(xiàn)兒子留下一張紙條，上面寫著：“親愛的媽媽，我希望您的面包已經(jīng)病好了。”