It was an autumn morning shortly after my husband and
I moved into our first house. Children were upstairs unpacking , and I was
looking out of the window at my father moving around mysteriously on the front
lawn. My parents lived nearby ,and Dad had visited us several times already.
“What are you doing out there?” I called to him .He looked up, smiling. “I’m
making you a surprise.” Knowing my father, I thought it could be just about
anything. A self-employed jobber, he was always building things out of odds and
ends. When we were kids, he always created something surprising for us.
Today, however, Dad would say no more,
and caught ups in the busyness of our new life, I eventually forgot about his
surprise. Until one gloomy day the following March when I glanced out of the
window. Any yet… I saw a dot of blue across the yard. I
headed outside for a closer look. They were crocuses (番红花), throughout the front lawn. Lavender, blue, yellow
and my favorite pink ---- little faces moved up and down in the cold wind.
Dad! I smiled, remembering the
things he had secretly planted last autumn. He knew how the darkness and
dullness of winter always got me down. What could have been more perfectly
timely to my needs?
My father’s crocuses bloomed each
spring for the next four or five seasons, bringing the same assurance every
time they arrived: hard times was almost over. Hold on, keep going, light is
coming soon.
Then a spring came with only half
the usual blooms. The next spring there were none. I missed the crocuses. I
would ask Dad to come over and plant new bulbs. But I never did.
He died suddenly one October day.
My family was in deep sorrow, leaning on our faith. I missed him terribly.
Four years passed, and on a dismal
spring afternoon I was driving back when I found myself feeling depressed.
“You’ve got the winter depression again and you get them every year.” I told
myself.
It was Dad’s birthday, and I found
myself thinking about him. This was not unusual --- my family often talked
about him, remembering how he lived his faith. Once I saw him give his coat to
a homeless man.
Suddenly I slowed as I turned into
our driveway. I stopped and stared at the lawn. And there on the muddy grass
and small gray piles of melting snow, bravely waving in the wind, was one pink
crocus.
How could a flower bloom from a
bulb more than 18 years old, one that had not blossomed in over a decade? But
there was the crocus. Tears filled my eyes as I realized its significance.
Hold on, keep going, light is coming soon. The pink
crocus bloomed for only a day. But it built my faith for a lifetime.
1.According to the first three paragraphs, we learn
that _________.
A. the writer was unpacking when her father was making
the surprise
B. the writer knew what the surprise was because she
knew her father
C. it was not the first time that the writer’s father
had made a surprise
D. it kept bothering the writer not knowing what the
surprise was
2.Which of the following would most probably be the
worst time of the year as seen by the writer?
A. Spring. B. Summer. C.
Autumn. D. Winter.
3.Which of the following is NOT true, according to the
passage?
A. The writer’s father planted the crocus to lift her
low spirit.
B. The crocuses bloomed each spring before the
writer’s father died.
C. The writer often thought about her father since her
father died.
D. The writer’s father died some years after he
planted the crocus.
4.The writer’s father should be best described
as_________.
A. a full-time gardener with skillful hands
B. a part-time jobber who loved flowers
C. a kind-hearted man who lived with faith
D. an ordinary man with doubts in his life
5.Crocus was viewed as the symbol of _________ by the
writer.
A. faith B. family C.
love D. friendship
