first far-away signals

After a time he was aware of the first far-away signals of sensation in his beaten fingers. The faint tingling grew stronger till it evolved into a stinging ache that was excruciating, but which the man hailed with satisfaction. He stripped the mitten from his right hand and fetched forth the birch bark. The exposed fingers were quickly going numb again. Next he brought out his bunch of sulphur matches. But the tremendous cold had already driven the life out of his fingers. In his effort to separate one match from the others, the whole bunch fell in the snow. He tried to pick it out of the snow, but failed. The dead fingers could neither touch nor clutch. He was very careful. He drove the thought of his freezing feet, and nose, and cheeks, out of his mind, devoting his whole soul to the matches. He watched, using the sense of vision in place of that of touch, and when he saw his fingers on each side the bunch, he dosed them--that is, he willed to close them, for the wires were down, and the fingers did not obey. He pulled the mitten on the right hand and beat it fiercely against his knee. Then. with both mittened hands, he scooped the bunch of matches, along with much snow, into his lap. Yet he was no better off.

my memory as time

This event faded from my memory as time went by. One day after I came home from the countryside, I found the room stuffy and casually opened the window. Something outside caught my eye and dazzled me. It was a plum tree all scarlet with blossom set off beautifully by the sunset. The surprise discovery overwhelmed me with pleasure. I wondered why I had no idea of some unyielding life sprouting over the fallen petals when I was grieving for the hibiscus.
When the last withered petal dropped, all the joyful admiration for the hibiscus sank into oblivion as if nothing was left, until the landscape was again ablaze with the red plum blossom to remind people of life’s alternation and continuance. Can’t it be said that life is actually a symphony, a harmonious composition of loss and gain.
Standing by the window lost in thought for a long time, I realized that no scenery in the world remains unchanged. As long as you keep your heart basking in the sun, every dawn will present a fine prospect for you to unfold and the world will always be about new hopes.

slowed down to a walk

It struck him as curious that he could run at all on feet so frozen that he could not feel
them when they struck the earth and took the weigh. of his body. He seemed to himself to
skim along above the surface, and to have no connection with the earth. Somewhere he had
once seen a winged Mercury, and he wondered if Mercury felt as he felt when skimming over
the earth.
His theory of running until he reached camp and the boys had one flaw in it: he lacked the
endurance. Several times he stumbled, and finally he tottered, crumpled up, and fell. When
he tried to rise, he failed. He must sit and rest, he decided, and next time he would merely
walk and keep on going. As he sat and regained his breath, he noted that he was feeling
quite warm and comfortable He was not shivering, and it even seemed that a warm glow had
come to his chest and trunk. And yet, when he touched his nose or cheeks, there was no
sensation. Running would not thaw them out. Nor would it thaw out his hands and feet. Then
the thought came to him that the frozen portions of his body must be extending. He tried to
keep this thought down, to forget it, to think of something else; he was aware of the
panicky feeling that it caused, and he was afraid of the panic. But the thought asserted
itself, and persisted, until it produced a vision of his body totally frozen. This was too
much, and he made another wild run along the trail. Once he slowed down to a walk, but the
thought of the freezing extending itself made him run again.

a second time

And all the time the dog ran with him, at his heels. When he fell down a second time, it
curled its tad! over its forefeet and sat in front of him, facing him, curiously eager and
intent The warmth and security of the animal angered him, and he cursed it till it flattened
down its ears appealingly. This time the shivering came more quickly upon the man. He was
losing in his battle with the frost. It was creeping into his body from all sides. The
thought of it drove him on, but he ran no more than a hundred feet, when he staggered and
pitched headlong. It was his last panic. When he had recovered his breath and control, he
sat up and entertained in his mind the conception of meeting death with dignity. However,
the conception did not come to him in such terms. His idea of it was that he had been making
a fool of himself, running around like a chicken with its head cut off--such was the simile
that occurred to him. Well, he was bound to freeze anyway, and he might as well take it
decently. With this new-found peace of mind came the first glimmerings of drowsiness. A good
idea, he thought, to sleep off to death. It was like salting an anaesthetic. Freezing was
not so bad as people thought. There were lots worse ways to die.

flowers in the wind

From the window of my room, I could see a tall cotton-rose hibiscus. In spring, when green foliage was half hidden by mist, the tree looked very enchanting dotted with red blossom. This inspiring neighbor of mine often set my mind working. I gradually regarded it as my best friend.
Nevertheless, when I opened the window one morning, to my amazement, the tree was almost bare beyond recognition as a result of the storm ravages the night before. Struck by the plight, I was seized with a sadness at the thought “all the blossom is doomed to fall”. I could not help sighing with emotion: the course of life never runs smooth, for there are so many ups and downs, twists and turns. The vicissitudes of my life saw my beloved friends parting one after another. Isn’t it similar to the tree shedding its flowers in the wind?

the animal

The sight of the dog put a wild idea into his head. He remembered the tale of the man,
caught in a blizzard, who killed a steer and crawled inside the carcass, and so was saved.
He would kill the dog and bury his hands in the warm body until the numbness went out of
them. Then he could build another fire. He spoke to the dog, calling it to him; but in his
voice was a strange note of fear that frightened the animal, who had never known the man to
speak in such way before. Something was the matter, and its suspicious nature sensed danger
--it knew not what danger, but somewhere, somehow, in its brain arose an apprehension of the
man. It flattened its ears down at the sound of the man's voice, and its restless, hunching
movements and the liftings and shiftings of its forefeet became more pronounced; but it
would not come to the man. He got on his hands and knees and crawled toward the dog. This
unusual posture again excited suspicion, and the animal sidled mincingly away.

our lives change

As we go on, we rememberAll the times we had togetherAnd as our lives change, come whateverWe will still be friends forever
So if we get the big jobs and we make the big moneyWhen we look back nowWill our jokes still be funny?Will we still remember everything we learned in school?Still be trying to break every single rule?Will little brainy Bobby be the stockbroker man?Can we ever find a job that won't interfere with a tan?I keep, I keep thinking that it's not goodbyeKeep on thinking it's a time to flyAnd this is how it feels
Will we think about tomorrow like we think about now?Can we survive it out there?Can we make it somehow?I guess I thought that this would never endAnd suddenly it's like we're women and menWill the past be a shadow that will follow us 'round?Will these memories fade when I leave this town?I keep, I keep thinking that it's not goodbyeKeep on thinking it's a time to fly