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我永远会记得我第一次骑马的情景:从波波洛城门出来,去往莫列桥,它唯一的拱形支撑着历史传统的重量,强迫灰黄色的台伯河在它四个矫饰的圣徒雕像之间流过,然后越过山顶,沿着通往佛罗伦萨的旧驿路而行。那是温和的仲冬时节,罗马平原上色彩独特的季节;阳光中充满了柔和的紫色,温和的亮光萦绕在那些了解罗马的人的回想中,如同一些极其不可靠的记忆。一个小时之后,我在草地边缘停下来,向更远处凝望了一会儿。此时此地,对平原的认
I will always remember my first horseback scene: out of the city of Popolo, go to the Moore bridge, its only arch supporting the weight of historical traditions, forcing the gray Tiber in its four pretenses The saints pass between the statues and then pass the top of the hill, along the old post road to Florence. It was a mild midwinter season, a season of unique colors on the Roman plain; the sunshine was filled with a soft purple, mild light lingering in the memories of those who knew Rome, as some extremely unreliable memories. An hour later I stopped at the edge of the meadow and stared further into the air. At this point, the recognition of the plain