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弗朗西斯·拉塞尔FrancisRussell
OnthiswaningautumhenorthernMainela，pelling，shadowedhereandtherebypuffsoffair-weathercumulus，remnantsofsummer.Here，adozeofWaldoboro，Iomysummersfromtheageof12to14atohoseIndian-namedboys’camps-mothahinkabout.
Istandontherisewasohebaseballdiamond.Thtistheblackoak，severalhundredyearsold，besidewhichweusedtoholdhtcampfires.Howma-heavyAugustdayshaveIstoodonthisriselookiheetowardthehills?Formeitwasalrospect，theausteretrysidestretgawaywiththesharpdefinitionofauryaquatintacrosshillandwoodlandtoMt.Battieoutlithehorizon.AtourcampfireeveheredarouoakjustaftersuBattiewithoutlosiionwouldtakeonablueluminosity.
&heyearsaraggedsed-groenandbirdspeckledalder，atthefaredgeofthebaseballdiamond，hasblottedoutthatview.hihtheeskybuttheuopsofsed-growthtrees.Alreadytheskyhasbeguhesteeliertintsofwitiehasdisappeared.
Onsultryafterheairquiveredinthedfadinglightofearlyeveniaheoldoakandlookoutainterludenofsdsfromwhichseveralmilesaway，ahillemerged.Asahillitwasinsignifiough.Belowitsbaresummitaurelaydottedwithgrougsofgrahingaboutthathilldrewme，bee，ailes.Iotbeartotakemyeyesfromit，Ikhatbeforesummeregotoit.（Makemywayoverthepasture，upanduppastshrubailIstoodo.）ItwassomethingIhadtodo.Iotexplainwhy.Ididnotevenaskmyself.
Notthatitwaseasytogetawayfromingandafternoon，ouractiviticswerereaselor’snotebook.Wehadtobeswimmingtennisorbaseballatratoffonnaturewalkssomegadgetiryshop-justsolongaswedidsomething.Buttodonothing，toclimbahillforhatwasoutsidetherules，againstthe“campspirit.”
Saturdayafternoons，withtheirinfluxofparentsandvisithtarelaxation，lessatability.Ononesudvividafternooogettomyhill.Fromthegreatoak，Icouldseeitssummitaheadofme，unknown，inviting.Inspicuously，Iedgedalongthebaseballfield，theheunderbrush.
Itwashardgoing，hardtokeepasenseofdiresugleofvihicket.Istumbleds，steppedintoanthills.Marshhillocksgavewayu，deadbranaggedme，pricklyseedsworkedisheairwasstagnant.Withmosquitandhover-fliesganddarting，Iploddedon，losingmyselfandlosingtrae.
Imusthavebeenstrugglingonforatleastanhour.Sudde，anopengroveofashandmaple，afilteredthroughtheleaves.Isawinfroeroforivchhtlypaintediyofedwithscrollsandscallopedshihnarrow，high-pitchedroofs，eaorethanahfromthe，ay.Therewasnosignofanylivingbeing.
Tfromthewood，thesunlitgrovewaslikesomethingoutofGrimm，asifthisoddlittlevillagehadbeenputunderaspellandhadbeenasleepfor100years.Ayellowhouseinfrohablue-lattitporchcouldhavebeenwaitingforHanselael.Soquietthegrovewas，sostilltheair，thateventheaspenleaveshunglimp.Blueandgreendragonflies，poisedintheair，addedtothee.Faroff，Icouldheartheichofayellowwarblerandalobuzz.Otherwisesilence.
&upontheporchofapinktrimmedhouseahroughthesinglerosaiough-aroomleofchairs，atable，acoup.Aladderledupstairstoasleepingloft.Thegrovewasamystery.Whywerethoselittlehousesthere?Whyweretheyemptyahesametimecaredfor?Whoowwaseerietoseetheseminiatureshuddledtainstallthatspace.IhalfexpeeguardiantoutaIwasdoingthere.
Isupposemyentedvillagewassomesortofcampmeetingground，usedafewweekseachsummer.Ineverdidfindout.OnthatafternoonIdidhesun’srayswerealreadyslanting，theshadowslonger，andmyhillstilllayaheadofme.Agaiheunderbrush.（Breakingthroughatlasttoaruttedroadscoredwithpuddles.）Butatthefirstturhefootofthehill，myhill，openahelengthenedsuhinmeadowgrasshadturnedbrowhatohepasturehadfallenapart，aymulleihrustiheboulders.UpIwent，raniteledgeandaeaddownhardhadmeadowsweetinmyhurrytogettothetop.
Atlast，uhesky’sbowl，Istoodatthecrestbreathless，thehillsolid，tangibleu.SoofteelusiveianowIwasthere.YetevenasIreachedmygoal，itbegantoslipawayfrhtahead，beyondmoremilesofwoodland，Icouldseeanotherhill，somewhathigher，somewhatlrazingplaitsclearedslopeasummithihgreen.Mysterious，fullofpromise，itwasahillIshould，inmyoldlonging，thatishedImightbe，onthatfartherhill.ButevenasIlookedatit.Isebeyondtherewouldbeanotherhill，ayeta.Battie，beyondMaihemiles.Evegoingrouherewouldalwaysbeanotherhill.Ahen，suddenlyandly，thatoneeverreachthelasthill.
缅因州北部的秋天景色迷人。
当黄昏降临的时候，晴朗的天空飘着的云朵为大地投下片片浓阴，仿佛夏天还没有过去。
缅因州位于沃尔多博拉以西12英里，在12岁到14岁的三年时间里，我每年都去那里度假，因为那里有几个以印第安语命名的男童夏令营。
然而，我现在已经不愿常常回忆那些久远的往事了。
我站在曾经是棒球场的土丘上，它的右方是一片百年橡树林，我们曾径常在这片树林的附近举办篝火晚会。
在酷热的8月，我曾多少次站在这座土丘上，遥望葱郁树林后面的康登山脉！
那大片的原野一直伸向地平线轮廓清晰的巴蒂山，中途穿过小山和树林，好似18世纪时形象鲜明的铜版画。
日暮时分，轮廓变得模糊的巴蒂山笼罩在一片蓝色的暮霭之中时，我们就围在老橡树四周举办篝火晚会。
许多年后，棒球场四周较远的地方又长出了许多高矮不等的白杨树、白桦树，还有长着斑点的桤木，这片树林挡住了视野，曾经种在那里的树木早已被砍伐了。
在这片透明的天空下，我们现在已经看不见什么，除了那些参差不齐的树冠。
巴蒂山已经消失在远方，天空也披上了一层寒冷的色彩。
在酷热的午后，当淡淡的暮色降临时，就会吹起凉爽的微风。
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