Springs are not always the same. In some years, April bursts upon Virginia hills in one prodigious1 leap and all the stage is filled at once, whole choruses of tulips, arabesques2 of forsythia, cadenzas of flowering plum. The trees grow leaves overnight. In other years, spring tiptoes in. It pauses, overcome by shyness, like my grandchild at the door, peeping in, ducking out of sight, giggling3 in the hallway. I know you're out there, I cry. Come in! And April slips into our arms.
The dogwood bud, pale green, is inlaid with russet markings. Within the perfect cup a score of clustered seeds are nestled. One examines the bud in awe4: Where were those seeds a month ago? The apples display their milliner's scraps5 of ivory silk, rose-tinged. All the sleeping things wake up primrose6, baby iris7, blue phlox. The earth warms you can smell it, feel it, crumble8 April in your hands.
Look to the rue9 anemone10, if you will, or the pea patch, or to the stubborn weed that thrusts its shoulders through a city street. This is how it was, is now, and ever shall be, the world without end. In the serene11 certainty of spring recurring12, who can fear the distant fall?
春不一直千篇一律的。有时，4月一个健步就跃上了弗吉尼亚的小山丘。顿时，整个舞台活跃起来：郁金香们引吭高歌，连翘花翩翩起舞，梅花表演起了独奏。树木也在一夜之间披上了新绿。
有时，春又悄然到来。它欲前又止，羞怯害羞，就像我的小孙女，倚在门口，偷偷往里瞅，又一下子跑开了，无影无踪，从门厅传出她咯咯的笑声。我喊一声：我了解你在那儿，进去吧！于是4月便倏地一下飞进大家怀中。
山茱蓃的花骨朵儿嫩绿嫩绿的，镶着赤褐色的花边。在那好看的花萼里，竟稳稳地簇拥着十几颗小种子。大家不禁要惊羡地问一句：一个月前这类种子还在什么地方呢？苹果树则像卖帽人，向大家展示他帽子上那一片片微带点玫瑰红地乳白色丝缎。所有熟睡的都醒了樱草花、小蝴蝶花、蓝夹竹桃。大地也暖和起来了你可以闻到4月的气息，感觉到它那股馨香，把它捧在手中赏玩。
去看看白头翁花，假如你想，再去看看豌豆畦，或是那倔强地手臂伸过城市街道的野花。它们以前是如此，目前是如此，以后还会是如此，这是个永不停息的世界。当大家发现，春已切切实实地回来了，在安静之中，哪个还会害怕遥远的秋季呢？
