The winter of wisconsin

Nothing. No tracks but my own are stitched into the dusting of fresh snow, white as birch bark, that fell during the night. No flittering shadows in the trees, not a sliver of bird song in the air.

天地一片空寂。昨夜剛剛飄落的一場大雪，像白樺樹皮那樣潔白，白雪皚皚的大地上只留下一行我自己的足跡，仿佛縫在白布上的一行細(xì)密針腳。樹上沒有飛鳥的影子掠過，空中也沒有一絲鳥兒的歌聲。

What sun there is this time of year shines weakly, halfheartedly through the white gauze of clouds, offering not even the slightest pretense of warmth. For nearly a week temperatures around my Wisconsin cabin have not risen above zero. The mercury seems painted to the bottom of the thermometer.

一年中此時(shí)的太陽發(fā)出微弱的光線，懶洋洋地透過薄薄的云層，沒有一絲暖意。幾乎有一個(gè)星期了，我在威斯康星州的小屋里的氣溫還沒有到過零度以上。溫度計(jì)里的水銀柱降到了底端。

Excerpt:From A promise of spring.

By Jeff Rennicke