《草地上的兩隻小獸》

草地低得像層呼吸。

兩團黑白色的雲團在上面移動，
時隱時現，
像夜色遺落在白晝里的兩塊碎片。

它們埋着頭。

翻草，嗅土，啃食，
把鼻尖探進根須交錯的陰影里。

尾巴偶爾豎起來，

白色的長毛被風吹散，

像草地上忽然長出的一面小旗。

蟲子在地下移動，
露水沿葉脈緩慢傾斜，
細小的氣味正穿過泥土。

鼻尖貼着草根，

兩團影子一路低行。

忽然，
一隻有了發現。

身體向前一縮，
草葉輕輕陷下去，
形成一個淺淺的窩。

另一隻立刻趕來。

尾巴蓬開，
像一簇驟然點亮的白火。

它繞着同伴轉了一圈，
撞上去，
退開，
又撞上去，

只有草葉在來回搖晃。

兩團黑白色的影子，
在裡面滾成一團。

跳起時，
仿佛高估了自己的輕盈；

落下時，
又被大地穩穩接住。

有時嗅得太認真，

整個腦袋沉進草浪，像被綠色吞沒。

有時會追逐看不見的目標，
再忽然停住。

聞了聞另一處草叢，
像是已經忘了剛才為什麼奔跑。

風從草地上經過。

黑白相間的毛髮微微起伏，
像兩道正在漂移的波紋。

它們偶爾抬起頭，

聞一聞，嗅一嗅。
陽光還停留在原來的地方。

於是又重新低下去。

繼續翻找，
繼續追逐，
繼續為一粒種子、一隻蟲子、
或一縷轉瞬即逝的氣味。

整個下午，
世界都很安靜。

草在生長，
泥土在緩慢變暖。

它們還在草里翻找。

一隻抬起頭。

另一隻已經鑽進更深的草里。

風吹過去，
草重新合攏。

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.