一粒盐

最后一个早上，波莉飞到了小城的尽头。那里的海边有一座白色的小灯塔，旁边是一座圆形的教堂。从这里看，小城又像一艘船了。

On her last morning, Polly flew to the end of the town. A small white lighthouse stands there by the sea, next to a round church. From here, the town looked like a ship again.

渔船一条一条地离开了港口。塔上的钟在屋顶上空响起。广场上，拿着小提琴的男人独自站在清晨的阳光里。

The fishing boats left the harbour one by one. The bell in the tower rang over the roofs. On the square, the man with the violin stood alone in the first light.

波莉还能尝到一粒盐的味道。大海、太阳和耐心的双手做出了它，七百多年来都是一样的做法。这座白色的小城是盐建起来的。

Polly still tasted one grain of salt. Sea, sun and patient hands made it, the same way for more than seven hundred years. Salt built this white town.

她绕着小城飞了一圈。然后，她乘着晨风飞了上去。石船在她身后变小了。她前面的大海又宽又亮。

She flew once around the town. Then she rose on the morning wind. The stone ship grew small behind her. The sea in front of her was wide and bright.