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Sample translations submitted: 1
Chinese to English: 秋日私语 General field: Art/Literary
The autumn day arrived with a steady and graceful tread and along with it came the voices of falling leaves.
The phoenix tree was the first to get the news of the coming autumn: from forest-green and yellow-green its leaves turned pale yellow and golden, to goldenrod and deep-brown. Their attire wasn’t as neat as the one they put on when springtime comes, but each and every leaf is struggling to show its most graceful mien. It is in this season that the phoenix tree is loveliest. The sun throws its beams aslant, and a palette of colours glow in a manner that dazzles the eye. They are snatching at their last chance in the year to burn away in blossom, to their heart’s content.
The maple, therefore, becomes ardent. When the maple leaves burst out in colours, they resemble a huge bonfire alongside a mountain; in fact, they offer a glorious feast to the eyes. At this time of year, the long ranges of hills reach their greatest wealth of colour: a scenery more moving than the blossoming mountains in spring. As though the entire mountain is well nigh to turn incandescent. When the sun casts its rays over the maple tree in front of my window, it regains many of the rays that were already gone. Then a gentle, golden light fills the entire room. The maple experienced the most splendid change of all forest trees, its leaves became bright, as though glowing with rays, emitted from their inside. It stands outside my window like a huge lamp that sheds its light into my room, and even when the day is overcast, they dissipate the melancholy and scatter away all mistiness.
The coniferous forest has solicitously covered the earth with a thick and flossy golden carpet. I am fond of promenading on a path so carpeted: even the rattling noise of high-heeled shoes drowns in its silence. Everything becomes so quiet, you could feel from it some additional exquisite charm. I would slow down my steps and listen thoughtfully to the voices of the falling pine-needles; the autumn insects also have reduced the sharp note of their summer songs to a humdrum murmur. An invisible and enormous wave of warmth has spilled everywhere. A cloud of a delicate scent of osmanthus, penetrating the indistinct and fine sun-shadows, is floating in the air with an impalpable movement. This gentle and warm autumn charm rests in everything.
I am fond of sitting by a brook at the mountain side, listening to the murmuring sound of its waves, with my eyes penetrating through its crystalline water to the bottom; only now and then would a faintly yellow fallen leaf, drift to my side. From the moment it would rush toward the brook, it would repair on a delightful journey. Following the meandering, ungovernable current, it would travel to a distant land with a joyful song. Every time I behold such a sight, I am always envious of this vagrant leaf—so simple, so dedicated to its course without turning back, so staunch! While we, when making a choice, are so full of hesitations and have so many doubts.
I like the autumn not only because of its serene nature, but also for the autumnal scenery that fills our bosoms with countless feelings. The feeling of weary rustle, of desolation, of solitary gloom, but also of a plentiful harvest and mirth and much more... The feelings of the most bountiful time in the year. I would walk at will along a tiny path in a grove, with golden chrysanthemums alongside, gathered in pairs or in larger clusters, enthralling me with their fragrance. I would pick at random a maple leaf and keep it carefully, when I get home I would place it between the pages of a book and store it there as a little treasure.
I also love to lift up my head and stare at the bright blue sky, seeking out the silhouette of a swan-goose bevy and silently enjoining them: Please, take my heart’s thoughts to a distant land! Please, take my blessings to a far-off kingdom...
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Master's degree - Sofia University
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Years of experience: 30. Registered at ProZ.com: Mar 2011.
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