诗意的栖居

我叫徐小兔。

But the trains sped by and the planes tool off without me, so I wandered the world through books.

火车驶过、飞机起落，我在原地徘徊，可书籍带我漫游世界。

My home was in a pleasant place outside of Philadelphia. But I really lived, truly lived, somewhere else. I lived within the covers of books.

我家住在费城郊外一处舒适的地方。但我实际上生活在另一个地方，生活在书页之中。

But there was always a part of me, the best part of me, at home, within some book laid flat on the table to mark my place, its imaginary people were, the trees that moved in the wind, the still, dark waters.

但我内心中的一部分，最美好的一部分，总是呆在家里，呆在平铺在桌上的书本里。书里有虚拟幻化的人物，有风中摇曳的树木，有幽深平静的水池。

It turns out that when my younger self thought of taking wing, she wanted only to let her spirit soar. Books are the plane, and the train, and the road. They are the destination, and the journey. They are home.

事实证明，年少的我梦想插翅飞翔，不过是想让心灵翩翩起舞。书籍就是飞机，就是火车，就是道路。书籍就是目的地，就是旅程，就是我的家园。