Every fall, when the frost first pl

Every fall, when the frost first played freeze tag with the grass, Papa would come to our house. He would shuffle in, his soft, shiny leather shoes dancing across Momma's sunflower-yellow-tiled kitchen floor. All six of us kids knew why he was there. First frost meant magic snowball time. Papa only came to our house once a year. He and Granny lived in an apartment upstairs from an old neighborhood corner store in the big city. Papa said they lived there to be close to the old-fashioned penny candy counter in the store.
We went to see Papa, Granny and that penny candy counter every Saturday. Unless, of course, the first frost fell on a Saturday. The first frost always meant that Papa was coming to see us.
Papa would bring an old battered coal shovel and an old-fashioned ice chest with him. He'd hustle all six of us kids out to the backyard. Then, he'd start digging and talking. He always worked as he talked.
Papa would tell us how he'd lived with the gypsies before
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he'd met Granny. He'd tell us about life on the road with the carnival. He'd show us magic tricks and tell us strange but true tales of gypsy powers. Then, Papa would start talking about the importance of the magic snowbank.
We'd gather around him and listen like we were supposed to, but never did, in church. He would tell us how some folks believed that if you wanted a good snowy winter, you always had to save a little snow from the winter before and put it into the magic snowbank. Then, he'd let us each have a turn digging.
The dirt would fly, as we steadily took turns digging down into the earth. We could smell the last barbequed breezes of summer, and the newly fallen leaves of autumn. Sometimes, we'd all swear that we'd smelled the
peppermint, candy cane, gingerbread house and poinsettia fragrances of Christmas wafting out of that hole.
Papa would tell us how some folks believed that you have to give to the earth if you want it to give to you. He'd talk about how any good farmer knows that you can't expect to reap a harvest without planting seeds. Our snow seeds were in his old ice chest.
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Soon enough, Papa would open that old ice chest. We'd crowd around it with the same amount of wonder every year. Inside, Papa would have seven perfect magic snowballs. There was always one for him, and one for each of us kids.
We'd wait politely, but impatiently as he passed them out. We could never hold them for long, as Papa said it wouldn't work if we were selfish. We didn't want to melt the snow and have nothing to offer the earth.
We would solemnly place our snowballs into the hole, quickly, if still a bit reluctantly. There's not a child I've ever known that didn't want to throw a snowball once it was placed into his or her hands. We weren't any different. We just knew that we had to give our snowballs to the earth. Our snowballs were magic. Our snowballs were the seeds for the magic snowbank.
Papa would cover our magic snowbank with the dirt that we'd shoveled out of the hole. We'd all hold hands and sing Christmas carols, as Papa buried our magic snowballs. Then, Papa would wipe his hands on his pants and smile. "Well, we've planted our magic snowballs on the day of the
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first frost, kids. It's up to the magic snowbank now," he'd say.
When the first snow came, as it did every winter, all six of us would run out into the yard and catch snowflakes on our tongues and in our mittens. We'd taste the tickly, shivery delight of falling ice stars. We'd examine the crystal beauty of bright white, frosty flakes on dark, warm mittens.
It was all Papa's magic, and we were a part of it. We would dance and hug and giggle and grin and sing, all six of us together. We never quarreled or argued on the day the first snow fell. We were too pleased with ourselves.
We knew we were magic. The first snow reminded us of Papa, the first frost and our magic snowbank deep within the earth. We knew we had a secret all our own. We had helped the snow to fall once again. We were snow

結果 (中文) 3:

每一次跌倒，当霜第一次打冻的标签与草，爸爸会来到我们家。他将洗牌，他柔软的、闪闪发亮的皮鞋，舞过妈妈的金黄色瓷砖的厨房地板。我们六个孩子都知道他为什么在那里。第一场霜冻意味着神奇的雪球时间。爸爸只有一年来我们家一次。他和奶奶住在大城市的一个旧街区的角落里的一个公寓里。爸爸说他们住在那里，靠近商店里的老式便士糖果柜台。我们去看爸爸，奶奶和那个便士糖果柜台每星期六。除非，当然，第一个霜冻落在一个星期六。第一场霜冻意味着爸爸要来见我们。爸爸会带一个破旧的煤铲和一个老式的冰箱和他一起。他会将我们六个孩子挤在后院。然后，他就开始挖掘和说话。他说话总是很努力。爸爸告诉我们，他住在一起之前1 / 4页他见过奶奶。他会告诉我们关于人生道路上的狂欢节。他会给我们表演魔术，告诉我们奇怪但真实的故事。然后，他开始谈论魔法雪堆的重要性。我们会聚在他身边，听着我们应该去做的，但在教堂里却没有。他告诉我们，有些人相信，如果你想过一个多雪的冬天，你总是不得不节省一点去年的雪，放入魔法雪堆。然后，他会让我们每个人都有一个转身挖掘。当我们不断地把它挖倒在地上时，泥土就会飞起来。我们闻到了夏日的最后一丝微风，和刚刚落下来的秋天叶子。有时，我们都会发誓，我们会闻到薄荷、拐杖糖、姜饼屋和圣诞红的芳香飘出来的洞。爸爸会告诉我们一些人认为，如果你想给你的话，你必须给地球。他会说，有一个好的农民知道，你不可能指望没有播种的收获。我们的雪种子在他的旧冰箱里。2 / 4页很快，爸爸就会打开那古老的冰箱。我们周围的人群中，每年都有同样数量的奇迹。在里面，爸爸会有七个完美的雪球。总是有一个对他，一个对我们每个孩子。我们会礼貌地等他，但他不耐烦地把他们从他们中传出来。我们永远不能把它们放在长时间，因为爸爸说如果我们是自私的话，它不会工作的。我们不想融化的雪，没有什么可以提供地球。我们庄重地将雪球放进洞里，很快，尽管有些不情愿。我从来都不想把一个雪球扔在他或她的手上，我从来没有见过这样的孩子。我们并没有什么不同。我们知道，我们必须把我们的雪球地球。我们的雪球是魔术。我们的雪球是魔法雪堆的种子。爸爸会覆盖我们的魔法雪堆的污垢，我们会挖起。我们手拉手唱圣诞颂歌，掩埋我们的雪球。然后，爸爸会把他的手放在裤子上，微笑着。”好的，我们在白天把魔力雪球3 / 4页初霜，孩子。它是由魔法雪堆的现在，”他说。当第一场雪来了，就像每一个冬天，我们六个都会跑到院子里抓雪花在我们的舌头和我们的手套。我们品尝着这些易碎、易化的冰花。我们会检查亮白水晶的美丽，冷冰冰的片黑暗，温暖的手套。这是爸爸的魔法，我们是它的一部分。我们会跳舞、拥抱、大笑和歌唱，我们六个在一起。我们从来没有吵过架，或是在那天的第一场雪上争吵。我们太高兴了。我们知道我们是魔术。第一场雪使我们想起了爸爸，第一次霜降和我们的魔法雪堆在大地深处。我们知道我们有自己的秘密。我们曾经帮助过雪再次下降。我们被雪