Go, See the Ocean!
Cynthia Zhang
2009

The sea has so many different moods: sometimes it sings a dull yet soothing folk song while rolling its light blue eyes, teasing your juvenile imagination. Sometimes, it pets your chest with that deep tolerant sympathy, rocking you with its sandy arms. Sometimes, it chases you with irritated tides, sweeping you off your feet.

Snowy Night
Cynthia Zhang 2018

小镇雪夜
          雪一直不停地下了五天，西部小镇Ellensburg白雪皑皑。散会后我去商店买东西。路灯透过雪伞似的树枝照在路上。所谓的路，不过是两边高些的雪中一条雪稍低的通道。
          脚下喳喳的雪声衬托了夜的静。我几次停步不愿前行。平时不过10分钟的路看起来如此陌生，空无一人。
          走了五分钟，我似乎融进了雪夜和它的静。周围的白色让我与自然和自己的呼吸没有距离。我原本也是自然的一分子。身处自然的造化与美何尝不是我的归处呢？

Prose by ZHU Ziqing

朱自清散文背影 www.ccview.net/htm/xiandai/zzq/zzqsw003.htm

Thoughts in Fall
Cynthia Zhang
2009

Thoughts in Fall

Strangely and extraordinarily dizzy,

Half consciousness relieved me from toil for living.

Alas, how strong is my strength?

Starting with a search for meaning,

The affluent grass under my feet

Caresses me to fight for means of life.

Oh my, is this all my life worth?

A Clear Day
Cynthia Zhang
2019

朗日清风

     从加利福尼亚开车回华盛顿州，一路开来，天朗气清，美不可收。路两旁油油的青山绿坡，牛群安闲。几天前的雨让空气也好闻了。不时也有花墙护卫道路两旁。经过山岗时，森林俊朗。俄勒冈州有一段因地势的关系，积雪仍有一米多高。可谓春夏之握手交接。

     森林大火的阴霾似已散去，呈现在眼前的是生命的律动。宽心也不过如此吧。失去亲友的伤痛我也仍在感受着。情不自已向蓝天白云叨念我的思念。我的心却渐渐向着前方行进了。

This Stupid Heart

This stupid heart still wants to talk to you on Saturday night.

It still wants to know if you have enough clothes on you

When it rains or snows.

This stupid heart still wants to seek comfort and assurance

From you.

 (Cynthia Zhang 2019)

Seasons
Cynthia Zhang
Written: January 2019

四季

        从小长在中国北方，习惯了四季轮换，学会了按照季节调整生活习惯。春夏秋冬逐一享受，逐一放手。

        可是在美国的有些州，季节转换不过一两个小时的车程。这与美国的地形地貌有很大关系。比如在亚利桑那州，海拔两千多米的Flagstaff城四季分明。可是往南的凤凰城由于地处沙漠，只有春季和炎夏两个季节。当我厌倦了Flagstaff的冬雪时，就会开车去往凤凰城。一路的植被从松林到仙人掌林再到细叶单株植物，呼吸的空气也从寒冷转换成温暖。

        再比如在华盛顿州，我所在的中部Ellensburg小镇冬天多雪，夏天干热。可越过山脉往西的西雅图却冬暖夏凉，四季如春。所以当我欣赏完冬雪和夏天的热浪，便会开车到西雅图去呼吸温润的森林与海洋之息。美哉！

Small Town Irish Pub

Cynthia Zhang 2012

In the shadow

By the road,

There is this small town

Irish pub without light.

The swing on the tree

Is still swinging.

The icy moonlight

Draws the shape of the counter.

Where is the laughter

Of yesterday?

It should be last life.

It should be another time.

That Irish young man

Behind the counter

Catches a glimpse

Of a familiar silhouette,

Asking in his heart:

Have we met before?