Fragrant Olives in an Autumn Afternoon

Having long been buried up to my neck in my repressive study， I came forth finally for a view of the soft autumn afternoon in the gaiety sunlight of an lazy Saturday when women pushed out their babies fast asleep in light buggies for a fresh breath of warm air， when languid senile couples propped by their time-worn crutches came out to draw in the essence of life from the vibrating city， when the young lovers in the throbs of their bumping love sought cooling shelter for their hot romance by some coves of still clear lake， when time itself sweetened by scent of fragrant olives was all for memory and for sentiment.

Sauntering out with the excited sensibility， I found myself in a manicured lawn of gentle green grass upon which flocks of shrieking children horsing and romping after each other in an amicable chaos， their naughty noise rippling in the ocean of glittering sunshine， and their shadows lengthened out of proportion in the waning afternoon. Further down the winding lane， the patriarchal high rises were diminished into a barrack of sordid brick bungalows， who hasnt outgrown its barbarism yet， and whose antique shabbiness diametrically opposed with the crude wealth of the sleek-windowed skyscrapers struck me with so direct a force that I was caught up in the treacherous oddity that has thrust itself upon the oversized urbanization since the emergence of the first city in history： the power of opulence and wealth dramatized the difference of peoples destinies.

What lay besides these battered and besotted facts of rural life was a wide and even highway through which streams of traffic racing to and fro. Within each isolate luxurious limousine there was a barren life in its hunger for it share of adventures， a mind wandering to faraway distance in the past or in future， a body， tired and rigid， solidly seated behind the controls， and a dream or an ambition on its way to flourish or to pieces. Presently， a silver car whirled by， kicking up a cloud of dust and trailing a plume of exhaust in its wake， and then lost itself in the engulfing glow of the blazing sun. By a quick transition across the road， I strolled to the gate of a college， whose genial atmosphere beckoned me hither but whose gatekeeper， an old man of narrow eyes and a protruding belly， had only a discriminating hospitality for an insignificant outsider as me. Forced into a retreat， and inwardly pained by the public rebuff from the all-important gate-keeper， I put on a brave face and gathered in my splintered dignity， converting my anguish to a strained smile on my tilted-back head and walked on.

Once the prospective visit on the campus was dropped， a slope fringed with thick forest jumped into my view， which was nothing less than a natural relief after the humiliation at the school gate. The woods were overflowed with multitudinous murmuring of birds and humming of unseen insects， the bushes by the roads in their flowery dresses， the forest spreading out its lush canopy of darkly green foliage， and unexpected wildflowers， ready to amaze passers-by with their silent art of brilliantly blossoming， at any corner which were of the liveliest interest to the buzzing bees. On approaching the rich woods， I was immediately pricked to the quick by a pungent scent of fragrance， a magic waft of sweetness and balminess that smoothed all the ruffled feathers in my journey， a smell that anyone could recognize without a look at the source， which was always hidden in a nestled nook of thick foliage. Drawing a deep breath of this pungent natural perfume， I felt flowed up by this delicious and delicate breeze and carried away by waves of this divinely abundant pleasantry. Yes， it was fragrant olive， a fact that was reaffirmed by the sight of dots of golden flowers nodding and blinking at me from a nearby prosperous tree who expanded out its strong branches in a reversed chandelier shape. What lurked beneath the heavy clusters of lustrous leafs were tufts of beige fragrant olives flowers， which were constituted by hard， minimal and unobtrusive grains of yellow pedals. These meagre and plain existence asserted no rights to public attention; they quietly extracted their pure and exquisite joy from their willingly-exerted effort in supplying the golden air with elegant fragrance. What higher tributes could I find to the poetic touch of Autumn than the palpable presence of enthralling odour given off lavishly by the commonest object in the flora kingdom？ Sneaking up to the humble flowers for fear of interrupting their continuous flow of grace， I peeked into a shady alcove of the rustling leaves and exposed my all faculties to an intimate presence of the fragrant olive， taking a deep breath of its thrilling smell to my fullest content， releasing off all my pent-up tensions and self-projected dejection.

Cleared my soiled and soured mind of its frustrations and fluttering emotions， I buoyed up from the quagmire of despondence with a totally renewed awareness， open to all the nourishment of beauty and nobleness， yet alarming to any evil agitation and blind indignation. Nothing befitted a transient traveler as me， in a hard journey marked only by foiled endeavors and misplaced enthusiasm， so much as a peaceful mind and a clear view of the way under my feet， facilitated by the aromatic persuasion of the serene fragrant olives.

Raising up my head， looking out into the far distance， I sensed the autumn dust was deepening with a wreath of misty dew trailing through the sober woods. The same landscape， glistening with sunlight flirting with tips of leaves in the breezy afternoon a while ago， now grew mild and vague under the spell of hushing mist， projecting distant mounts into a gigantic dark blue monster looming large on the horizon. Hanging in the air was the faint echo of singing insects while the flying preys were perched on some silent branches drifting off into an immemorial dream. When all in a comparative stillness， I murmured my saturnine Goodbye to my cheerful friend， the fragrant olive tree， who still embraced me in her aromatic bosom， and betook myself to the way home with the resolute determination that the first thing in the next morning must be coming and hugging this charming friend.

As if to minister an assurance to my heaving breast on departure， I gleaned up a sprinkle of fallen fragrant olives from the ground - flowers on the boughs were breathing nymphs， too lively a life to be snapped off - keeping them safe in my pocket， and jogged away along the lonely rugged lane against a twilight sky dabbed by gauzy clouds in all subtle shades， girlish pink， glorious golden， passionate crimson， romantic purple， jeans blue ect.

【作者簡(jiǎn)介】聶秋紅（1991.10.06-），女，漢族，江西九江人，廣東工業(yè)大學(xué)華立學(xué)院，碩士研究生，研究方向：英美文學(xué)。