再也回不去的那个夏天

再也回不去的那个夏天
The Summer We Can Never Return To

炎炎夏日，城市在空调与车流中蒸腾着热浪。每当这个时候，我总会想起童年的夏天，那个只需几毛钱、一根冰棍就能让人乐不可支的夏天。那时的快乐，是那样简单，那样纯粹，仿佛阳光穿过云层撒在水面的波光一样，清澈又明亮。
In the scorching summer heat, the city steams under the air conditioners and the endless flow of traffic. At times like this, I always recall the summers of my childhood—those days when just a few coins and a popsicle could bring boundless joy. Happiness back then was so simple, so pure, like sunlight breaking through the clouds and sparkling on the water—clear and bright.

记忆中，村口小卖部里摆着一个老旧的冰柜，咯吱一声打开，冷气扑面而来，一根五分钱的“绿豆冰棍”或是“老冰棍”，是我们对夏天最深的期待。拿到冰棍的那一刻，哪怕是太阳高悬，汗水湿透了衣衫，也立刻忘记了炎热，只有满心的满足与欢喜。我们一边舔着冰棍，一边坐在树荫下，脚丫在尘土里划着圈，讨论着哪家的桃子熟了、谁家的狗又生了小崽、明天要不要去水库游泳。
In my memory, there was an old freezer at the small shop near the village entrance. It creaked when opened, releasing a burst of cool air. A five-cent mung bean popsicle or a classic ice bar was our greatest summer delight. The moment we got one, even under the blazing sun and with sweat soaking our shirts, all the heat disappeared, replaced only by joy and contentment. We licked our popsicles under the shade of trees, drawing circles in the dust with our toes, chatting about whose peaches were ripe, whose dog had new puppies, and whether we should go swimming in the reservoir tomorrow.

村庄边有一个不算大的水库，水质清澈，岸边长满了野草与蒲公英。每当放暑假，伙伴们便成群结队奔向那片水域，哪怕太阳炙烤着大地，我们依旧兴致勃勃地跳进水里，扑腾着、打闹着。没有游泳圈，没有救生衣，胆大的往水中央游，胆小的则在岸边嬉戏。我们用衣服包着西瓜放在水里冰镇，一人拿一个旧搪瓷碗舀水泼来泼去。等玩累了，便躺在岸边晒太阳，听着蝉鸣与蛙叫，仿佛整个人都融进了夏天的自然里。
There was a small reservoir on the edge of the village, its water clear and its banks covered with wild grass and dandelions. During summer vacation, we would rush there in groups, full of excitement despite the scorching sun. We jumped into the water, splashing and playing around. There were no floaties, no life jackets—those who were brave swam out to the middle, while the cautious ones played near the shore. We’d wrap watermelons in clothes to chill them in the water, and splash each other with enamel bowls. When tired, we lay on the bank, basking in the sun, listening to cicadas and frogs, as if our whole being had melted into the essence of summer.

除了水库，田野和果园也是我们的天堂。每年七八月，桃子熟了，我们会结伴跑到村边的果园里。那时候不懂得什么“未经允许不能采摘”，只觉得一树一树的桃子是整个夏天最诱人的馈赠。爬上树，一手扶枝，一手摘果，咬上一口，汁水顺着下巴流到脖子，带着甜蜜与泥土的芬芳。摘回家的桃子总被大人责备“太青”、“太小”，可我们却觉得那是世间最美味的食物。
Besides the reservoir, the fields and orchards were also our paradise. Every July and August, when the peaches ripened, we would go to the orchards on the outskirts of the village together. Back then, we didn’t understand things like “don’t pick without permission”—we only knew that those trees full of peaches were summer’s most tempting gift. Climbing up, holding a branch in one hand and picking fruit with the other, we’d bite into a peach and let the juice run down our chins and necks, carrying a sweetness mixed with the scent of earth. The peaches we brought home were always scolded by adults for being “too green” or “too small,” but to us, they were the most delicious food in the world.

那样的夏天，那样的日子，虽然贫穷，但心里没有焦虑，也没有什么大梦想，只想每天都能和伙伴们疯玩，晚上躺在院子里的凉席上数星星，听爷爷讲老掉牙的故事。
Those summers, those days—though poor—were free of worry. We had no grand dreams, just the simple wish to play with our friends every day. At night, we’d lie on straw mats in the courtyard, counting stars and listening to Grandpa’s well-worn tales.

而如今，夏天依旧滚烫，我却早已不再是那个会为一根冰棍兴奋半天的孩子。现在的我，早已工作，有了收入，有了手机、电脑、空调与冷饮，曾经眼里珍贵无比的几十块钱，甚至几百块，也不过是一顿普通饭钱。可我却很少再笑得像小时候那样纯粹。
Now, summers are still hot, but I’m no longer the child who would get excited over a single popsicle. I’ve grown up, started working, and have an income. I have a phone, a computer, air conditioning, and cold drinks. The few dozen yuan that once felt like a fortune is now just the cost of an average meal. Yet I rarely smile with the same unfiltered joy I once did.

我也去过游泳馆，水干净、消毒、温控，却少了儿时水库的那份野趣与自由；也买过各式水果，进口的、包装精美的，却总觉得不如小时候偷偷摘来的桃子来得甜；也买过价格不菲的雪糕，精致、花哨，却总吃不出那年老冰棍的清凉滋味。
I’ve been to swimming pools, where the water is clean, sanitized, and temperature-controlled, but they lack the wild freedom of the childhood reservoir. I’ve bought all kinds of fruit—imported, beautifully packaged—but none taste as sweet as those we used to sneak from the orchard. I’ve tried expensive, fancy ice cream, yet none can match the refreshing taste of that old five-cent popsicle.

或许，真正改变的不是物质，而是我们自己。我们长大了，背负的东西多了，快乐的门槛也高了。曾经让人雀跃的点滴，现在成了无感的日常。我们在忙碌中渐渐遗忘了“满足”这个词的模样，也越来越难回到那种简单的幸福。
Perhaps what has truly changed isn’t the material world, but ourselves. We grew up. We carry more burdens now, and the threshold for happiness has risen. The little things that once thrilled us now feel like mundane routines. In the hustle and bustle of adulthood, we’ve gradually forgotten what “contentment” looks like, and it’s getting harder to return to that simple joy.

有时候，我也会在夜深人静时问自己：为何现在什么都有了，却感觉快乐越来越少了？也许，那些年我们缺钱、缺物质，但我们有朋友、有玩伴、有一颗未曾被社会打磨的童心。而现在，我们有钱了，却失去了那份对世界的新奇与热情，失去了对一个夏天的全部憧憬。
Sometimes, late at night, I ask myself: why do I have everything now, yet feel less and less happy? Maybe back then we lacked money and material things, but we had friends, playmates, and a heart untouched by the world. Now we have money, but we’ve lost our sense of wonder and excitement—our entire longing for what a summer could be.

那些夏天，那些用泥巴做饭、用树枝打仗的游戏，那些在水里笑到喘不过气的日子，那些被骂却心甘情愿的淘气时光，或许一去不复返了。但它们曾真实地存在过，在我记忆的深处熠熠生辉。
Those summers—playing with mud, sword-fighting with sticks, laughing until we couldn’t breathe in the water, the mischievous moments even if they earned us a scolding—may never return. But they truly happened, and they still shine in the depths of my memory.

有一天，我也许会带着自己的孩子回到那个村庄，指着那口水库、那棵桃树，对他说：“你爸小时候，就是在这里过夏天的。”虽然再也回不去那个夏天，但那份纯粹的快乐，会一直在心底，被好好珍藏着，陪我走过一个又一个灼热却不再那么快乐的夏天。
One day, maybe I’ll take my own child back to that village, point to the reservoir and the peach tree, and say, “This is where your dad used to spend his summers.” I may never return to that summer, but that pure happiness will always be cherished deep in my heart, accompanying me through one scorching yet no longer joyful summer after another.