Eye of Dawn

Early summer, on Shennan Boulevard. Birds not yet returning to their nests — it is precisely the season of migration; amid the noisy traffic there is always a touch of crisp melody that lingers in the mind and cannot be forgotten for a long time. I am still on this boulevard, watching the stream of cars, lifting my head endlessly along with the green leaves, and halting. The road is no longer so long; the roadside, still filled with green, keeps darkening, lightless. Night quietly draws near. There is no fresh natural flavour; the breath of people is everywhere, and yet this night has come to life all the more. The sea breeze keeps bringing new touches of colour, licking the forehead, embracing the treetops, and just like that, with no sense of propriety, it runs wild over everything around. Along this boulevard there are plants and flowers in one stretch and crowds of people in the next; what you see is exactly what you hear — charm without losing the bearing of an old uncle. As the high-rises keep growing, the dust is drunk, but the banyan trees have withered. Zhongshan Park, south side. Nantou, the dividing point between inside and outside the pass. Outside the North Ring is Zhongshan Park: lush lychees and longans, spacious lawns and lakes. Laughter is everywhere to be seen, and we are all there. You can lie on the lawn, lazily basking in the sun, or run after a kite, or bat a shuttlecock around… There is no inexpressible displeasure — only that the flavour you had been looking forward to is a little lacking.