没有那么多的天才。我的孩子就一个普通人，能学会一种语言就烧高香了。哪敢奢望能
学两门以上啊？比如我读了下面一篇孩子写的文章，觉得还行:这个小作者有自己独特
的声音和感想。至于中文能不能写出同样水平的文章，我估计很难，因为语言的不可转
换性局限了这种可能。所以还是在孩子小的时候挑一种语言当母语比较好，如果你的孩
子不是语言天才的话。
Consequences of Inconsequentiality
This isn’t the first time invaders have overrun the place; the area shows
signs of coming and going everywhere. The bare trunks, draped in their dull
camouflage-pattern colors, bear numerous battle wounds: names etched on worn
-away bark, phrases, and symbols, all speaking of a past and of people.
People strain to carve themselves into the trees, in fear they won’t be
able to anywhere else. As if to mark their own mark, the deluge of lumbering
students into the autumnal forest stream through, human bulldozers
muttering discontentedly about the overcast weather. Bracing winds steal
what meager amounts of body heat they have left, leaving the students jerky
automatons stuttering on a lonesome forest path. Their smokestacks of heavy
breath power machinated hearts and pollute the woods with carbon dioxide.
Starting on their journey, dead leaves and branches crunch underfoot, noises
perpetually buzzing in their heads like gnats. The animals have all gone,
spooked by the sudden onset of this cacophony.
They pass by signs made by the previous infiltrators. Silver wire netting
surrounds and smothers the trees near the pond’s edge, barricades from the
stagnant water, a constant reminder not to overstep the boundaries mankind
has set. Red iron tags, hammered at eye-level to their torsos with rusty
nails, declare victory over them. Hacked up roots of stumps lay in haphazard
piles on the sides of the path, rotting remnants of the war humans waged.
Pavements, ashen and irremovable, twist and turn through and around the
clearings and trees giving to creaky wooden bridges and rocky steps. Multi-
hued plastic litter, a courtesy of consumerism, travels along the waters to
reach this final destination, lying forgottern amongst the flotsam and
driftwood on the beach dunes. These silent traps with their many twists and
tangles, gleam prominently, sirens calling out to any curious passerby.
To all this the students avert their eyes, preferring to reflect upon the
supposed beauty of “preserved” nature: nature contained, maintained, and
retained by humans for the sake of humans. A semblance of the real
wilderness constructed as consolation for the guilty consciences of
desecrating urbanites. Fog enshrouds the bustling city, its silhouette
barely detectable from the opposite side of the bay. People who reside there
, on the other hand, have left all too great a mark. These citizens, like
the students, are oblivious to the damage caused by their negligence.
Leaving empty soda cans at the park, putting out excess fertilizer in the
garden, all is shrugged off as an inconsequential action. After all, they
rationalize, everyone engages in these acts now and then; such a small
transgression surely won’t amount to anything in the long run. So this
desecration goes on feeding upon itself.
Yet, the forest will continue its fragile homeostasis, regardless of what
ideas mankind has for its future. The roots of the trees strain to cover
ground, rising up as bumpy obstacles in the road, the treetops reaching for
the sky. The never-ending cycle of death and rebirth will continue: black
withered shrubs leaving room for spindly saplings, flourishing vines
intertwined with the dead uprooted trees. Moss and lichen decorate the
ground and logs, creating a tiny landscape all on their own, one of damp
spirals and mesas and infinite shades of green. The geese and gulls don’t
seem to mind the clouded water one bit as they converge and converse by the
shore. Nature shakes off mankind’s attempts to impact it, continuing to
rise up. The leaves, ever falling, cover their trampled comrades, erasing
the signs of human steps.
Only the students show imprints of this visit. The sand in their shoes, the
plant bits in their hair, the rosy cheeks, will stay with them for a bit.
The most enduring testimonial above all, however, would be their memory, one
of the briny smells of the bay, simplistically comforting patches of
sunlight, and some perspective into the state of the forest. After the
students come back to the metropolis to see the stilted shrunken trees
lining roads and neighborhoods and workplaces, the artificially clear pools
siphoned off by pipes and drains, or other poor imitations of nature,
perhaps their memory would be jolted and their perspective of true nature
would resurface. Longing for another glimpse of nature, for a refuge of
their own to escape from the stifling facsimiles of mankind, they would
nurture their empathy for the forest. Whether they find solace is
inconsequential. What matters is that the spark in their minds is lit.
