第6章让心灵去旅行（6）
我静静地躺在地上，沉浸在满足和渴望之中。这时，隐约一阵声响从松林间传来。最初，我猜想是远处农庄的鸡鸣或犬吠。但这声音有规律地传入我的耳朵，最终我明白了，那是山谷公路上一个赶路人在高声歌唱。他唱歌不是为了显示他歌声的婉转，而是为了表露出内心的美好情感。他底气十足，声音嘹亮，歌声围着山梁，飘**在草木茂盛的幽谷间。以前在城市里，我也曾在深夜时，听过人们路过的声音，记得其中一些人也唱歌，有个人把风笛吹得婉转动听。还有一次，我静静地躺在**，在数小时的沉静后，不知是一辆马车还是大车忽然驶过，绝尘而去，隆隆的声音不绝于耳。懂得浪漫的人才会在黑夜里独自外出，出于兴奋好奇，我们常常去猜测他们的行踪。但这种浪漫有着双重含义：一方面是指这个欢快的夜行人，由于体内酒精燃烧的作用，在黑夜里引吭高歌；另一方面，是关于我自己，结结实实地把自己裹在睡袋里，在星空下四五千英尺的地方，我独自在松林里惬意地抽着烟。
有一种相随，比孤独来得平静，如果正确地理解，那就是孤独创造完美。懂得浪漫的人会在黑夜里独自外出，在夜里引吭高歌。
林湖重游
&otheLake
[美国]埃尔文·布鲁克斯·怀特ElwynBrooksWhite
about1904，myfatherrentedaalakeiookusallthereforthemonthofAugust。WeallgwormfromsomekittensandhadtorubPond'sExtrasaandm，andmyfatherrolledoverihallhis；butoutsideofthatthevawasasudfromthenonnohoughttherelatheworldlikethatlakeiurersummer—alwaysonAugust1stforoh。Ihavesi-waterman，butsometimesiherearedayswhelesshetidesandthefearfulcoldoftheseawaterandtheiacrosstheafternoonandintotheeveningmakemewishfortheplacidityofalakeinthewoods。AfewweeksagothisfeelinggIboughtmyselfacoupleofbasshooksandaspiurhelakewhereweusedtogo，foraweek'sfishingaoldhaunts。
Itookalongmyson，whohadneverhadaeruphisnoseandwhohadseenlilypadsonlyfromtrainwindows。OnthejourhelakeIbegawouldbelike。Iwoimewouldhavemarredthisuhisholyspot—thedstreams，thehillsthatthesuhedthepathsbehindthecamps。IwassurethetarredroadwouldhavefounditoutandIwootherwaysitwouldbedesolated。Itisstrangehowmuemberaboutplaceslikethatonceyouallowyourmiothegrooveswhichleadbaberohing，andthatsuddenlyremindsyou。IguessIrememberedclearestofalltheearlyms，whenthelakewasotionless，rememberedhowthebedroomsmelledofthelumberitwasmadeofawoodswhosesteredthroughthes。Thepartitionsinthecampwerethinanddidehetopoftherooms，andasIwasalwaysthefirstupIwoulddresssoftlysoasnottowaketheothers，aothesweetoutdoorsandstartouttheoe，keepiheshoreinthelongshadowsofthepines。Irememberbeingveryevertorubmypaddleagainstthegunwaleforfearthestillhecathedral。
Thelakehadyouwouldcallawildlake。Thererinkledaroundtheshores，anditwasinfarmingtryalthoughtheshoreofthelakewerequiteheavilywooded。Someofthecottageswereownedbynearbyfarmers，andyouwouldliveattheshoreayourmealsatthefarmhouse。That'swhatourfamilydid。Butalthoughitwasn'twild，itwasafairlylargeandundisturbedlakeandtherewereplaitwhich，toachildatleast，seemedieandprimeval。
Iwasrightaboutthetar：itledtowithinhalfamileoftheshore。ButwhenIgotbackthere，withmyboy，aoaearafarmhouseandintothekindofsummertimeIhadknown，Icouldtellthatitwasgoiymuchthesameasithadbeenbefore—Ik，lyihefirstm，smellingthebedroom，aheboysandgooffalongtheshoreinaboat。IbegantosustaintheillusionthathewasI，andtherefore，bysimpletransposition，thatIwasmyfather。Thisseed，keptgupallthetimewewerethere。Itwasirelyigrewmuger。Iseemedtobelivingadualexistence。Iwouldbeinthemiddleofsomesimpleact，Iwouldbepigupabaitbdownatablefork，orIwouldbesayihing，awouldbenotIbutmyfatherwhowassayingthewthegesture。Itgavemeasation。