夏夜去跳广场舞 (w English)

“我帮你查一下气温。”坐在电脑前面的某人看我换上舞队的服装说，然后提高了声音说，“现在外面87度，很热，你还要去跳舞啊。”

我脱口说道，“我们的热情更热。”

时值周六（8/3）徬晚六点前后。我交待好某人的饭菜，自己胡乱吃了两口，便推门离开。被夏日太阳炙烤了一天的地面，散发的热气。当车子启动车窗摇下，经过社区门口的林荫大道时，温热的夏风里顿时卷进一阵阵清凉，像干涸的沙漠流入清泉一般，五脏六腑被抚摸了一把。

大公园偌大的停车场又是停着满满的车，如果不出门就不知道外面的世界有多精彩，人们的夜生活有多丰富。大操场上，这边拉着大屏幕，那边旋转着木马。远处足球场足球飞，近处沙滩场上排球扬。草地上有自带椅子听音乐会的，砖石铺砌的广场上有像我们这样来跳舞的。今晚的广场中央还搭起了大帐篷，披红挂绿的彩带挂下来，带着几分喜庆。原来一对印度新郎新娘正在这里举办婚礼。



今晚继续学跳《战马》，曾经很红火的一支舞曲，非常动感，有着街舞的节奏和洒脱。当欢快的音乐一响起，身上的每个细胞好像立马被唤醒，一遍跳下来，汗也随之冒了出来。

印度婚礼不仅分散了我们的注意力，大喇叭里的音乐更是盖过了我们的舞曲。在欣赏完印度婚礼后，我们只好转身更换场地。华灯初上，不远处的旋转木马亮着灯，隐约听得见叮咚的音乐声，也依稀可见马背上孩子的身影。

东边的晚霞开始粉墨登场，层层叠叠，粉红的，紫色的，蓝色的，瑰丽无比，然后再一点点变得深沉。这时的西边天空却还亮着。就这样，我一个转身朝东，又一个转身朝西地跳着，仿佛置身于一个交错变化的天地大舞台。

就这样断断续续跳了两个多小时。。。 

8：30左右结束。此时，夜未央，月如勾，夏风轻拂，大地已经褪去了热气。流过不少汗的我，像卸去了体内一周的积垢，变得轻松起来，每个张开的毛孔享受着晚风的抚摸。

（早上跳舞和晚上跳舞的区别是，早晨是越跳越热，看着日光线一点点侵袭着我们窄小的遮阴之处；而晚上，天气则越跳越凉。如果说广场舞也有舞台，那么白天的布景是阳光和四周的棕榈树。夜晚，我们以天为幕，晚霞、渐渐暗淡的日光、月光便是舞台的布景。）



今年结的第二根丝瓜



火龙果欠收，辛苦的砍枝授粉，结果就八个不大的红肉，两个摘的时候给了邻居：



不舍得疏果，结果长得小不点那么大：）



8/7下班回家去Costco拐了一下，买来一代土豆，准备取其中几个，记录它们的生涯：从饱满光洁--失去光泽--干瘪-- 发芽--入土--儿女成群：）



8/8：光洁如初



八月还迎来第二波昙花的生长旺季。初初数了一下有三十多朵昙花即将绽放。昙缘啊：）

“It’s 87F outside.” Em’s husband warned her as she was putting on her dance T-shirt.

“Our enthusiasm is hotter.” Em blurted out and stepped outdoors into the lingering heat waves. It was almost six pm. The ground was still sizzling. But compared with the humid 106F in her hometown back in China, this is a paradise.

The parking lot was fully packed. The well-planned great park is magnetic to city dwellers, reminding people of Central Park in New York. Surrounded by new facilities, such as football fields, a sand volleyball court, an ice rink, a sports stadium and the lawns here and there, the park is like a retreat for people to flock in the weekends and nights, for events, entertainments, exercises or just a stroll.

Parked her car a bit far away, Em brisked up her steps and cut cross the green meadow flanked by towering palm trees. The otherwise mostly empty central court was today occupied by large tents hung with colorful ribbons cascading down from the top. Drifting in the air was the merry Indian music. Men and women, young and old, dressed up in their flamboyant traditional gowns, thronged the tent inside. An Indian wedding was taking place.

Em joined the team and began her newly learnt dance—Galloping Horse. But soon the dance music was drowned out by the loud Indian music, mixed intermittently with DJ’s voices from the speaker.

By the time the dance was resumed in the back court, next to ta barn and the merry-go-round, the night was falling. While the west sky was still bathed in the late sunlight, the sky on the east started being painted with pink, orange and blue colors, in layers at the bottom but its hues suffusing all over. It was against such a backdrop that Em and her team danced. She danced, as if on a stage, her eyes glancing at the dimming background as the sky darkened.

But the street lights shone on.

It was until 8:30 pm when they called it a day. The heat was abated. The air was balmy. The night wind permeated Em’s body and soul. Looking up, Em saw the huge iconic orange balloon floating in the half sky, beaming in the dark its warm orange glows that silently beckoned Em a good-night as she walked towards the parking lot.