《草地上的两只小兽》

《草地上的两只小兽》

草地低得像层呼吸。

两团黑白色的云团在上面移动，
时隐时现，
像夜色遗落在白昼里的两块碎片。

它们埋着头。

翻草，嗅土，啃食，
把鼻尖探进根须交错的阴影里。

尾巴偶尔竖起来，

白色的长毛被风吹散，

像草地上忽然长出的一面小旗。

虫子在地下移动，
露水沿叶脉缓慢倾斜，
细小的气味正穿过泥土。

鼻尖贴着草根，

两团影子一路低行。

忽然，
一只有了发现。

身体向前一缩，
草叶轻轻陷下去，
形成一个浅浅的窝。

另一只立刻赶来。

尾巴蓬开，
像一簇骤然点亮的白火。

它绕着同伴转了一圈，
撞上去，
退开，
又撞上去，

只有草叶在来回摇晃。

两团黑白色的影子，
在里面滚成一团。

跳起时，
仿佛高估了自己的轻盈；

落下时，
又被大地稳稳接住。

有时嗅得太认真，

整个脑袋沉进草浪，像被绿色吞没。

有时会追逐看不见的目标，
再忽然停住。

闻了闻另一处草丛，
像是已经忘了刚才为什么奔跑。

风从草地上经过。

黑白相间的毛发微微起伏，
像两道正在漂移的波纹。

它们偶尔抬起头，

闻一闻，嗅一嗅。
阳光还停留在原来的地方。

于是又重新低下去。

继续翻找，
继续追逐，
继续为一粒种子、一只虫子、
或一缕转瞬即逝的气味。

整个下午，
世界都很安静。

草在生长，
泥土在缓慢变暖。

它们还在草里翻找。

一只抬起头。

另一只已经钻进更深的草里。

风吹过去，
草重新合拢。

Two Small Creatures in the Grass

The grass lay low,
breathing close to the earth.

Two black-and-white shapes moved through it,
appearing and disappearing,
like fragments of night
left behind in daylight.

Their heads stayed down.

Turning over blades,
sniffing soil,
nibbling at whatever the roots concealed,
they pushed their noses
into the tangled shade beneath the grass.

Now and then,
a tail rose.

Long white fur scattered in the wind,
like a small flag
suddenly growing from the field.

Beneath them,
insects moved through the dark.
Drops of dew tilted slowly along veins of green.
Thin trails of scent drifted through the soil.

Noses close to the roots,
the two shadows traveled low.

Then—

one found something.

Its body tightened.

The grass bent inward,
forming a shallow hollow.

The other rushed over at once.

Its tail flared,
a burst of white fire
lit among the stems.

It circled its companion,
bumped into it,
backed away,
then bumped into it again.

Only the grass
rocked back and forth.

Two black-and-white shadows
rolled together there.

When they leapt,
they seemed to overestimate
their own lightness.

When they landed,
the earth caught them every time.

Sometimes they became so absorbed in a scent
that their entire heads disappeared
into the green swell of grass.

Sometimes they chased something unseen,
then stopped without warning.

A moment later,
they would be investigating another patch,
as if they had already forgotten
what had sent them running.

Wind crossed the field.

Their black-and-white fur rippled softly,
two drifting patterns
on a sea of green.

Now and then they lifted their heads,
sniffed once,
then again.

The sunlight
was still where they had left it.

So down they went once more.

Searching.
Chasing.

Following a seed,
an insect,
or a scent
already fading from the air.

All afternoon,
the world remained quiet.

The grass kept growing.

The soil slowly gathered warmth.

Still they searched among the stems.

One lifted its head.

The other had already vanished
into deeper grass.

The wind passed through.

The grass closed behind them.