午後時光
日子。心情。人和事
2026.3.13
I. The Anniversary
Last night, while Bill was having dinner in the breakfast table，I was in the adjacent family room doing some stretching. Bill asked me, "Tomorrow is March 13th—do you know what day that is?"
I’ve spent my life living in a bit of a muddle, never able to remember those "special" dates: family birthdays, my own birthday (the fact that I forget my own is a comfort; at least it proves I’m not being biased), or wedding anniversaries. It was the same back in school with history; I’d cram famous dates into my head right before an exam, only for them to vanish without a trace the moment it was over. Bill is the opposite. He remembers these dates with perfect clarity. Often, he probably feels like he’s performing a monologue, simply because his "co-star" in life can’t seem to remember her lines.
Bill gave me a second to react. Seeing no response, he declared that it was the anniversary of our arrival in Toronto. On March 13, 2000, travel-worn and weary, we set out from Dalian, crossed mountains and seas, and traveled ten thousand kilometres to begin a new chapter of our lives as immigrants in Canada.
I actually do remember this date. Perhaps it’s because Bill has repeated it so many times over the last twenty-odd years, or perhaps it’s because of that sudden spring snow in Toronto back in March 2000. I remember standing on the balcony of a high-rise condo building at Yonge and St. Clair, bathed in a flurry of snowflakes. As I watched the unfamiliar city below slowly being covered by a thin layer of white, a cloud-like tenderness rose in my heart—a gentle sentiment that took root then and has never left. I was twenty-eight then, still young, harboring an earnest longing for the brand-new life about to unfold. In those days, because of youth and high spirits, even the cold and the hardships were painted in warm colors.
Twenty-six years later, my face has aged and my hair has greyed; my youth is gone. Yet, my love for Canada and Toronto remains constant—unchanged and ever-deepening.
II. The Stirrings of Spring
It has been a grueling winter—extreme sub-zero temperatures followed by relentless, heavy snowfalls. Then, suddenly, in early March, the temperature soared, hitting 17 or 18 degrees Celsius. The towering snowbanks could no longer hold their ground; they collapsed with a splash, and meltwater flowed everywhere, gathering into streams that sang as they raced toward the storm drains. The lake has thawed, its water’s calm. Along the shore, the weeping willows stand tall and straight, casting reflections upon the water, their green silk swaying with supple waists.
The snow has vanished from the backyard and the front. Blades of grass are poking through, and the soil in the vegetable and flower gardens lies bare, moist and soft. Here and there, I see clusters of pale yellow, bead-like granules, perfectly uniform in shape and size—almost as if they could be gathered to string a necklace. I posted a photo to my gardening group for an answer, only to find they were droppings left by rabbits foraging in the snow during winter.
A gardener’s spring arrives earlier than everyone else's. I put on my rain boots and trek through the muddy ground to inspect the front and back yards. I know that garlic is hardy against both cold and drought; the cloves I buried before winter began have already sent up tall shoots. The fuzzy buds of the magnolia tree shimmer in the sunlight, their plump bellies filled with energy stored since last summer.
The rhododendrons, however, were a surprise. Both the large-leaf and small-leaf varieties are covered in green. The small-leaf rhododendron has tiny, delicate leaves—clearly new growth that emerged quietly against the early spring chill. But the large-leaf variety looks fully dressed, exactly as it did last summer; its leaves are broad and thick, a deep, even green, stretching out with such composure that it makes me daze for a moment. Was that really winter that just passed? Is this a plant that just survived bout after bout of bitter cold (the coldest winter in decades!) and storm after storm? Did such hardship truly leave not a single trace?
After the initial daze, a feeling like rising mist welled up from my heart: a mix of joy and deep emotion. Such a plant is truly touching—it reminds me of those elegant elders whose eyes remain clear and passionate even as they approach their seventies.
The woods feel different now than they did in winter. Without the snow, the space suddenly feels vast. Everything—the soil, the trees, the creek, the birds—seems to have entered a "ready" stance, holding its breath with wide eyes, waiting for the seasonal explosion of the next moment. Just watch: green branches, verdant leaves, grass, flowers, the sound of water, birds, and people will soon fill this prepared space. Every form of life, like a ripening balloon, will become full and abundant ……
Postscript
The sun was brilliant this morning when I started writing about these warm spring days. By the time I found a moment this afternoon to finish, a blizzard was raging outside; another snowstorm has arrived.
Looking back at the words I wrote above, it feels like a dream—a "spring dream" that leaves no trace. I don't know what to say. It’s not that I don’t understand; it’s just that this world changes far too fast.
(Translated by Google Gemini and modified by cxyz)
英文的功勞是google Gemini，我隻是讀了一遍，翻譯的不太準確的地方改了改。 我寫英文也寫不了，英文水平不夠。
英文也寫的好，比中文更感人。我就寫不好英文。
謝謝蘑菇，很高興你喜歡，祝春日安好。
謝謝可可，很高興你喜歡，遙祝春安。
那我們出國時間差不了多少， 都是老移民了 — 很感恩移民的這段經曆， 很大程度上豐富了我們的生活。
謝謝暖冬， 很高興你喜歡。 祝春日安好。
你到加拿大26年了，我來美國28年多了。在他鄉的時間都快要超過我們在故鄉的時間了。
祝小C春好！
是啊 妥妥的老移民了。 謝謝水沫， 祝春日安好。
小C也出國26年了，祝賀~~
非常好
喜歡
Love
— 嗬嗬 大概這是所有的比較強烈的情感的最終歸宿，愛情婚姻，工作職場，家鄉他鄉，在一起的時候不覺得，離開了不行 ：）
是啊 這連著兩場降雪， 小苗苗們又被掩埋了 —- 希望至少氣溫不要太低， 盡快回暖， 減少傷害。
謝謝暖秋多倫多老鄉，2000 年前後湧來大批大陸技術移民，我們是那個潮流的一部分。
二十年 三十年， 我們都是老移民了， 跟亮亮媽握個手， 抱一下。
謝謝， 很高興你喜歡。周末愉快！