学习啦【英语文摘】 韦彦时间：2016-08-30 11:05:04我要投稿
Dear Josephine, I have your letter, my adorable love.
It has filled my heart with joy...
Since I left you I have been sad all the time.
My only happiness is near you.
I go over endlessly in my thought of your kisses, your tears, your delicious jealousy.
The charm of my wonderful Josephine kindles a living, blazing fire in-my heart and senses.
When shall I be able to pass every minute near you, with nothing to do but to love you and nothing to think of but the pleasure of telling you of it and giving you the proof of it?
I loved you some time ago; since then I feel that I love you a thousand times better.
Ever since I have known you I adore you more every day.
That proves how wrong is that saying of La Bruyere "Love comes all of a sudden.
Ah, let me see some of your faults.
Be less beautiful, less graceful, less tender, less good. But never be jealous and never shed tears.
Your tears send me out of my mind... they set my very blood on fire.
Believe me that it is utterly impossible for me to have a single thought that is not yours, a single fancy that is not submissive to your will.
Rest well. Restore your health.
Come back to me and then at any rate before we die we ought to be able to say: "We were happy for so very many days!"
Millions of kisses even to your dog.
It is said that faith is both a gift and a task. By Saturday this week most Muslims around the world will have begun observing the month of Ramadan, the ninth month of the Muslim lunar calendar known as the month of fasting. Between sunrise and sunset, the adult and able Muslim, neither eats nor drinks and while many continue their day as normal, others take time out from their daily schedule for increased prayer and worship. But this year Ramadan will prove a particular challenge to the estimated 3,000 Muslim athletes coming to the UK for the Olympics.
This is probably the first time in recent history when the Olympic Games and Ramadan coincide. Some have chosen to defer their fasts till the games are over while other will probably train and compete around their 16 to 17 hours of fasting. It's true that some people find fasting easier than others, but personally speaking I'm amazed at any athlete who feels able to compete having gone without food or drink for so long. In London mosques are organising themselves to lay on evening meals or iftars to welcome all athletes of all backgrounds, Muslim and non-Muslim as a gesture of solidarity and hospitality. Sacred time will hopefully bring people together in new ways and create new friendships. While Ramadan is understood as a fundamental pillar of Islam, it can often become one of the most debated issues of faith.
There are exemptions from fasting for the elderly, the pregnant, the sick and infirm, those travelling, those on medication but these categories are traditional categories not always catering for the demands of modern times. Summer months here in the UK are the most challenging with long periods of daylight when life in theory should go on as normal but is simply not possible for so many. Every year there are debates and rulings about who can be exempt, how to make up for missed fasts, but in my view, people's approach to Ramadan remains quite conservative and in fact its difficulty becomes its very appeal. It's sacred time, a holy month and in the eyes of many fasting remains the ultimate act of endurance and patience in obedience to God. The Qur'an itself refers to fasting in various verses but one reads, "God intends for you ease, and He does not want to make things difficult for you." This kind of verse can be open to a variety of interpretations about how to live your faith more respectfully, not just in this month but throughout life. Physical abstinence is undoubtedly difficult but like all rituals, the period of self-reflection is essentially about transforming oneself both in body and soul.
I sit on the bridge, my feet dangling over the edge into the cool water. My chin rests on the wrought iron railing.
I stare at the tree across the water. An orange leaf drifts off and lands in the water and I watch the ripples as they spread.
The water is still today, the calmest that we’ve had all week.
When my sister and I were younger, Mum used to say there was a water spirit that lived in the river.
On the stormy days when the water was rough, she said it was because he was angry.
I always laughed and told her that there was no such thing as a water spirit.
I wish she was here to tell that story again.
I stand slowly and walk over the bridge across the water.
The boards creak beneath my feet and the wind blows my auburn hair into my eyes.
Mum always told me my hair was so beautiful and that I should let it grow until it touched the floor.
I knew she was joking, but I did it anyway.
Maybe I did it because it reminds me of her, but I don't really know why.
I have to braid it every day to stop it knotting, and it feels like it takes an age to brush out, but it's worth it. It makes me feel like she's still here with me.
I feel my feet touch the damp dirt and I tilt my head up.
The giant maple tree stands tall and wide in front of me.
An orange leaf falls on my nose and I shake it off with a smile.
This place is so beautiful.
I walk around the island slowly, taking in everything.
The sight of the city over the water, the sound of birds chirping, the feel of the dirt under my toes and the smell of autumn.
Whenever we went to the park, Mum would stand still, close her eyes and breathe deeply.
Once, when I asked her what she was doing, she told me she was getting to know the park by listening to the trees and feeling the ground beneath her feet.
I hesitate when I reach the grey stone path.
It is worn and I can see moss and weeds growing in the cracks.
I shake the leaves out of my hair and pick my way along the path.
It winds through the trees and shrubs until it hits the biggest tree.
There, in front of the tree is a grave stone.
I pick a flower from the ground and lay it in front of the stone as I kneel down.
I read the words on the grave stone. Marisa Lorizo, 24th May 1978 - 18th September 2010.
我读着墓碑上的字。Marisa Lorizo，1978 年 5 月 24 日 -2010 年 9 月 18 日。
Sadness wells up inside me and a single tear slides from my eye, then another, then another.
I cry until I can’t cry anymore.
I take a deep breath and look up with red eyes and tear stained cheeks to see that the sun is setting.
Rays of orange and pink light bathe the water and I suck in a breath.
The sight is breathtaking.
I remember that this was her favourite time of day.
I stand up. It is time to go home.
I look at the grave one last time and blow a kiss towards it.
“I miss you, Mum.”