As salmon awaken to the pulsing dawn,

当鲑鱼被脉动的清晨唤醒，

he hears night heron farther down the Skagit River.

他远远听到斯卡吉特河下游夜鹭的叫声。

The grey sky turning to white spirals

灰色的天空在变成白色的旋涡

calls winter one word blessed with distance.

用一个被距离所祝福的词来呼唤冬天。

In the dark, his home rests in echoing waves.

在黑暗中，他的家在回荡的水声中栖息，

White blossoms cover willow, woodpile, the path.

白花盖满柳枝，柴堆和小路。

Desire leads him back to his cabin in Fishtown,

欲望让他回到渔镇的小屋，

to stir his morning coffee and the struggle with brushes.

搅动他早晨的咖啡，和笔刷搏斗。

From the window he watches each falling flake

他看着窗外落下的雪花

enter the landscape of his gut,

沉入肝肠中的风景，

give a little order to his dreams.

对他的梦境发出小小的号令。

He sees the light begin its move toward spring

他看到那光线缓缓地移向春天

and he aims to turn that movement into art.

于是他决心把这种运动化成艺术。

To fail in this dance is still to live in the wolf's jaws.

如果不能完成这段舞蹈，他将继续生活在豺狼的利齿之间。