It felt like the last day of summer. On a Sunday afternoon in late September, people in Kyiv strolled(漫步，闲逛) through the city’s botanical gardens, admiring the late-flowering dahlias(大丽花). Later, the terraces in the Podil(基辅历史街区波迪尔) area – a neighbourhood full of bars, patisseries(法式糕点店) and bookshops – filled up with customers in search of a cocktail.
感觉像是夏天的最后一天。九月下旬的一个周日下午，基辅市民在植物园里漫步，欣赏着迟开的大丽花。稍后，波迪尔区的露天座位——这个遍布酒吧、法式糕点店和书店的街区——坐满了寻觅鸡尾酒的顾客。
The idyll(田园诗般的景象) was an illusion. As the day darkened, the air defence began its rumble(隆隆声) and boom. When a projectile(弹射物，抛射体) fell with an explosive smack on a bar table, the drinkers flinched(畏缩，退缩) and then laughed. It was only a conker(七叶树果，栗子) from the chestnut tree overhead. Nursing a glass of rosé(端着一杯桃红葡萄酒慢慢喝), writer Myroslav Laiuk talked about the picnic he and his wife had had the previous evening, in a park in the Obolon(基辅奥博隆区) district – prosecco in proper glasses, cheese and charcuterie(熟食拼盘). Then a drone was shot down above their heads. Very pretty, he said, with a smile. Shooting stars. Time to make a wish.
这田园诗般的景象只是一种幻觉。天色渐暗，防空系统开始隆隆作响。当一个“弹射物”啪的一声砸在酒吧桌上，喝酒的人们先是一惊，随后笑了——那不过是头顶栗树上掉下的一颗栗子。作家米罗斯拉夫·莱乌克端着一杯桃红葡萄酒，谈起前一晚他和妻子在奥博隆区公园里的野餐——用像样的杯子喝普罗塞克，还有奶酪和熟食。然后一架无人机在他们头顶被击落。真漂亮，他笑着说。流星。该许愿了。
Kyiv is no longer the city it was in the summer. Since late August, the Russians have been attacking over and over again in daylight hours, rather than only at night. The crump of air-defence, whine of drones and thunder of explosions are no longer the grim music of the night, but a commonplace waking-hours symphony, disrupting schools and workplaces and threatening life.(防空的闷响、无人机的尖啸和爆炸的轰鸣，不再是夜晚的恐怖音乐，而成了白昼里司空见惯的交响乐，扰乱学校和职场，威胁生命。) Warehouses and city petrol stations have been targeted, and at times acrid(刺鼻的，辛辣的) smoke blurs the clear autumn mornings. Kyiv has become a frontline city. And winter is on the way(即将到来).
基辅已不再是夏天那座城市。自八月下旬以来，俄罗斯人一再在白天发动袭击，而不再仅限于夜间。防空的闷响、无人机的尖啸和爆炸的轰鸣，不再是夜晚的恐怖音乐，而成了白昼里司空见惯的交响乐，扰乱学校和职场，威胁生命。仓库和城市加油站成为目标，有时刺鼻的烟雾模糊了清朗的秋日早晨。基辅已成为一座前线城市。而冬天正在逼近。