秋意漸濃，天涼時多走路，回家路上與大狗和溜狗的人、與慢跑的人、與和我一起選擇走路的人，在那窄長的路上，你我側身讓人走過跑過。抬頭看到在車子裡沒看見的風景 —— 躱在大樹後的歷史建築，每次車子經過連門口也看不到在哪。某座依山而建的舊廈佔地很闊，最近髹上黃色外牆，如果色調淡一點，在灰濛的雨天襯托下，那畫面很Wes Anderson。年代久遠的路牌和門牌，字體秀氣，瞥見殖民時期舊香港的優雅骨子。長在石縫間的小草與青苔，看上去很柔軟，讓人想伸手去摸。
On the same road, I usually commuted by car every day. Standing along the road are all residential buildings that are much mostly older than me, studded with just a few of new ones. At the end of the main road tucked away a short and steep road where my home is. There are only three house numbers and a “free-range” community cat on the road.
While on the ride, my field of vision was limited; it was always cars, pedestrians, dogs, stonewalls and doorways, brushing past like a fast-forwarded film. I could see more when driving though, and I particularly liked the ending turn of the road during 4, 5pm when the sun shone on treetops, casting shadows on lichens and stonewalls covered with roots. Pleasant to the eyes, they swayed gently in the wind.
Autumn has come, and when there was a slight chill in the air, I walked more often. On the way home upon the narrow pavement, I, and those who chose to travel on foot, made way for dogs, people who walked the dogs and joggers. Looking up, I saw scenery not found when travelling by car — hidden behind a curtain of green stood a historical building which I couldn’t see where the entrance was; an old mansion, built upon a hill, has recently painted its façade yellow and looked very Wes Anderson against a drizzling grey sky if the shade were toned down a little; the old road signs and house numberings in elegant fonts showed us a glimpse of the class of old Hong Kong in colonial times; the grass and moss grown between stones looked so tender that I wanted to touch them.
It would be a rainy season if it rains on the day of White Dew, the 15th solar term on lunar calendar, so I heard.
I visited the pier in my old neighbourhood for some seafood the other day when I got some leisurely time. On the way back it started drizzling. Fine rain and gentle wind, not even the slightest sound was made, there was a sheen on the concrete drive, reflecting a lustre like dew and mist. Holding an umbrella opened, rain and drops and falling from the leaves pitter-pattered onto the fabric, sounding like washing away the worries on mind drop by drop. The clams in the plastic box made this rhythmic knock-knock sound along my walking pace. The ending turn was no longer embraced with sunlight on this gloomy day, yet the fine drizzles played as a filter to mask the world, and I saw the serene beauty of it.
I enjoy walking. Slowly I see every façade of the world, reading every little thing into the heart. See it, feel it. See the world in its original form, unearthing the raw beauty of it.