平常出門都是坐車，近乎每天在同一條道路上來回。道路兩旁全是住宅，多半比我要老好一些，新樓宇不過幾幢，道路盡頭轉上一條短短的斜路，便到我家。這小路上只有三個門牌和一隻自由放養的社區小貓。
坐車時，視野只有水平線以內，放眼望去，都是行車、行人、狗隻、樹幹、石牆和門口，如映畫般快速掠過，來來去去。駕車時能多看一點，特別喜歡下午四、五時，道路末端那段的風景，陽光落在道路兩旁的樹梢上，影子落在地衣上、盤根的石牆上，在車路上迎風搖曳，看着好舒心。
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。
聽說白露當天下雨，整個秋天便會雨水多。
那天有空，去了搬家前常去的碼頭買海鮮，回家路上下起毛毛雨。斜風細雨，落地無息，水泥地泛起一片光，如露如霧。我撐着小傘，雨打在傘上與偶爾從樹葉滴落的水珠，滴答滴答，好像把心頭上煩瑣事兒一點一點擦去。放在塑膠盒子裡的大蜆隨我步伐咯咯的敲出節奏，平常喜愛的那段路陽光不再，天色昏暗，綿綿細雨彷彿為世界加上濾鏡，我看見另一種出塵的恬靜美。
我喜歡走路，慢慢的看見這世界的各種模樣，把生活一切一切看進心坎裡，好好感受，萬物原始的模樣，從生活縫隙中窺探原始美麗的模樣。
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.
