2015-13 阅读分享

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1。Xiaomei Wee(2015.03.27Behavior is a Choice

2。Xiaomei Wee(2015.03.27You have to Want it

3。Mai XW(2015.03.28)The Culture We Have ……

4。Mai XW(2015.03.29)About Marriage


* 松露玫瑰(2015.03.28)星期六讀書日。美食學和美食家



~ 松露玫瑰 ~

欢迎大家一起参与 周末读书天 My Weekend with Books 阅读分享,互相鼓励 :D >>[简介连接]>>

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  1.   I awoke when the sun rose. My body was sore, my cheek textured with the imprint of the forest. I'd slept six hours, maybe seven. Pushing up into a sitting position, I adjusted myself away from the two circular puddles under the heath.

      The city was waking up. Engines sputtered in to life, brakes screeched, birds sang. On the street below me, a school-age girl stepped off a bus. She was alone and walked quickly down the street, a bouquet of flowers in her hands. I couldn't see what she carried.

      I exhaled. I wanted more than anything to be that girl, to be a child again and carry crocus or hawthorn or larkspur instead of buckets of thistle. I wanted to search the North Bay until I found Elizabeth, and apologize, and beg forgiveness. I wanted to start my life over, on a course that would not lead to this moment, this waking up alone in a city park, my own daughter alone in an empty apartment building. Every decision I'd ever made had led me here, and I wanted to take it all back, the hatred and the blame and the violence. I wanted to have lunch with my angry ten-year-old self, to warn her of this morning and give her the flowers to point her in a different direction.

      But I couldn't go back. There was only now: this forest within the city and my own daughter, waiting. The thought filled me with dread. I did not know what I would find when I returned to the apartment. I did not know if she still screamed, or if time, solitude, and hunger would had collapsed my daughter's lungs completely as a rising tide.

      I failed my daughter. Less than three weeks after giving birth and making promises to us both, I had failed, and failed again. The cycle would continue. Promises and failures, mothers and daughters, indefinitely.

    The Language of Flowers, P316~317
    Vanessa Diffenbaugh
    ISBN 978-1-4472-0882-2