2. 职称英语
  3. The stillness that settled down on me at Bear Butte holds for my first few d

The stillness that settled down on me at Bear Butte holds for my first few d

游客2024-11-22  1
问题     The stillness that settled down on me at Bear Butte holds for my first few days at Theodore Roosevelt National Park, named for the conservationist president who tested his mettle(勇气)ranching cattle here as a young man. For the most part, I’m a solo act until a guy shows up at my campsite’s splintered picnic table. His earth-toned outfit camouflaged against the landscape, he looks like a birder.
    "Did you see a map? I lost my map. "
    I’m well into finishing the day’s third cup of camp-stove-brewed coffee. Less complete is my plan for the day. Hike the Petrified(石化的)Forest loop? Or head to the prairie dog town? Behind me, the day’s sun, already startlingly bright, lights up the badlands’ buttes(孤山), ringed by horizontal bands colored coal black, brick red, and clay tan.
    Until this interruption I’d been pondering those buttes—and the sagebrush that’s hiding, in my mind, a thousand rattlesnakes. The guy at the next campsite barely missed stepping on one yesterday.
    In front of me, the man shifts his weight from foot to foot. He paces. He dances in place to an anxious tune.
    "What map?" I ask.
    It’s the second time in five years that John, who introduces himself as an "unpaid botanist" from Vermont, has visited the park to explore—and document—the plant life. Over the years he has turned a store-bought map of the wilderness areas and hiking trails into a diary of the park’s life, filled with notations of the cottonwood trees that grow along the Little Missouri River, the junipers that rise up from the north-facing sides of buttes, and the green and gold grasses—salt grass, western wheatgrass, bluestem—that thrive on a prairie where little rain falls.
    "I’m very organized," John insists. Forgetting things on top of his car and driving off is his Achilles’ heel. His sadness overwhelms him. Replacing that map won’t be easy. He’ll have to restart the project from scratch.
    "You’ll find it. I know you’ll find it. " The words feel like the truest thing I’ve said in weeks. "Years ago, somebody stole my bag and a notebook filled with my short stories," I tell him. "A man found the bag. I got it all back. " If I can’t hand him the map, I can at least try to peel off some of his worry. His pacing slows. He gives me his address and hurries off to resume the search.
    Twenty minutes into my hike in the Petrified Forest, I’m trying to make sense of a different map, a photocopied trail guide I’d picked up at the visitors center. The sound of approaching footsteps throws me off. Aside from a sprinkling of spring wildflowers, little other life shows its face out here.
    A man in shorts and a bright green T-shirt, a ponytail hanging down his back and a small water bottle in his hand, runs up. He’s dressed as if he’s out for a jog through the suburbs.
    I hate that I feel nervous, but nobody knows I’m here. We exchange hellos and names. I keep my distance.
    "Is that a map of the trail?" Joseph doesn’t have one. I’m still trying to figure out which path to venture down, so I take a few steps toward him, though reluctantly.
    Joseph must sense my discomfort. He starts sharing his story. He’s director of the University of North Dakota’s Native Americans Into Law program and getting married soon. "I need to get in shape for the wedding pictures," he explains. I have a feeling my appearance on the trail surprised him just as much as his did me.
    As we walk, sunburn prickles my skin. The glare is exhausting. I’m glad for Joseph’s company. Trusting a stranger suddenly strikes me as a far smarter move than the solo hike I’d planned.
    The trail cuts through more grasslands, then shoots us down a slope of dry cracked earth. A giant’s market of mushroom-shaped rock formations greets us. Red caps several feet wide balance on tan stalks. It’s an otherworldly place that calls for witnesses so, if nothing else, you know you’re not hallucinating from the heat.
    A few minutes later, we’re hopping on and off petrified stumps. We point out signs of new life growing from cracks in the long-dead trees. We pop up short hills to take the long view, and, finally, turn back. At the mushrooms again, we swap smartphones and snap photos of each other posing underneath the giant caps, then part ways, friends.
    Later, at my campsite, I notice I’ve received a picnic table delivery through the unofficial mail system of campgrounds—rocks and scrap paper.
    It’s from John. "Jenna, you were right. I have the map! Thank you for your assurance I would get the map returned. "
    The next morning, back in the driver’s seat and bound for Montana, I can’t stop grinning. Though the highways of the Dakotas helped form the outline of my new mental map, the kindred spirits along the way brought these states into sharp relief. [br] At the end of the passage, the author was in______.
选项 A、fresh findings of the view along the highways
B、merry recollection of the amusing tour anecdotes
C、deep meditation about a new mental map
D、delightful aftertaste of warm caring among travelers
答案 D
解析 推断题。从最后一段中grinning一词可看出作者心情不错。根据该段第二句可知，志同道合者的精神交流让长途旅行不再那么辛苦，可见是对旅伴相互温暖的回味让她感动、愉快而绽放笑容，因此[D]符合题意。
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