下课后，屏幕停在最后一页。
学生陆续离开，门开了又合。
冬日的光从狭小的窗口斜入教室，越过空下来的座椅，落在讲台边缘。
台上与台下，不过几步。
After class, the screen rests on the final slide.
The students leave one by one. The door opens and closes.
Winter light slants through the narrow window, across the empty seats, and onto the edge of the lectern.
Only a few steps separate the two sides.
去年三月，我曾坐在那些座位之间。
故乡渐入春日，而南半球的桉叶正在落下。
那时是澳洲的秋天。我听老师用英语教授英语，也在每一次开口以前，先于心中默念许久。
Last March, I sat among those seats.
Back home, spring was drawing near, while eucalyptus leaves were falling in the Southern Hemisphere.
It was autumn in Australia. I listened as the teacher taught English in English, and before each attempt to speak, I rehearsed the words silently for a long time.
一年有余后，七月的冬天来到。
我站在教室的另一端，用英语讲授与英语无关的事物。
前一夜，潮水先于冬雨抵达。
它从未发生的提问中漫出，从可能忘记的词语间上涨，越过一页页讲稿和PPT，将每一个尚不存在的意外推至眼前。
我坐在灯下，望着潮水一次又一次推进潮线。
检查页面，修改细节，重复练习那些已练过许多次的话。
More than a year later, July brought winter.
I stood at the other end of the classroom, teaching in English about things that had nothing to do with English.
The night before, the tide arrived ahead of the winter rain.
It seeped out of questions that had never been asked, rose between words I might forget, and washed over page after page of notes and slides, pushing every mishap that had yet to exist before my eyes.
I sat beneath the lamp, watching the water advance its tideline again and again.
Checking slides, revising details, rehearsing words I had already rehearsed so many times.
潮水总是这样。
现实尚未抵达，它已在暗处往返多次。
The tide is always like this.
Before reality arrives, it has already come and gone many times in the dark.
清晨之后，教室亮起。
我站在台前，潮声仍在。
开口，讲解，翻至下一页。
Morning came, and the classroom grew bright.
I stood at the front. The sound of the tide was still there.
I began to speak, to explain, to turn to the next slide.
潮水抵达脚边。
学生望向屏幕。有人低头记录，有人在低声说笑。
The water reached my feet.
The students looked towards the screen. Some bent their heads to take notes; others chatted and laughed quietly.
海面轻微晃动。
而我有时停顿，有时重新组织语言，有时未能说出最准确的词。
The sea stirred a little.
At times I paused, at times I rephrased, and at times I could not find quite the right word.
但它没有继续上涨。
一页过去，又是一页。
那些曾在夜里被反复设想的风浪，始终没有穿过门窗。
冬日打入的光在教室缓慢流动。
But the water rose no further.
One slide passed, then another.
The wind and waves I had imagined so often in the night never made it through the doors or windows.
Winter light moved slowly through the classroom.
待我翻到最后一页，潮水已经退去。
沙面重新显露出来，留有一道湿润而浅淡的水痕。
By the time I reached the final slide, the tide had receded.
The sand lay exposed again, with a faint, damp line where the water had been.
我站在那里，看见去年秋天的自己仍坐在台下。
那时的讲台像在对岸。
澳洲的季节与故乡相反。来时是秋，站上台时已是冬。
Standing there, I saw myself from last autumn, still seated among the students.
Back then, the lectern had seemed to stand on the opposite shore.
Australia's seasons run counter to those back home. I arrived in autumn; by the time I stood at the front, it was winter.
冬至已过。
白昼仍短，雨水仍会抵达，清晨的风依旧带着寒意。
只是午后的光不再继续北行，正沿着天穹，缓慢向南折返。
The winter solstice has passed.
The days are still short, the rain will still come, and the morning wind still carries a chill.
But the afternoon light no longer travels north. Along the vault of the sky, it is slowly turning south again.
门再次合上。
窗外仍是冬天。
日光越过窗沿，正在南返。
讲台下，旧日的潮痕已渐渐淡去。
The door closes once more.
Outside, it is still winter.
Sunlight crosses the windowsill, returning south.
Below the lectern, the old tidemarks are slowly fading.
2026年7月24日
于珀斯
24 July 2026
Perth
