At the mountain top in Lishui

2023.4.2.

We are at the top of the mountain.

Outside the wooden fence, the crowd of cottages sit peacefully, enjoying the mountain view in front of them. The red-black tiles on their roofs knit into each other, building a very intricate pattern that sprawls east and west. They seem so busy and bustling like in a large social gathering, yet only the chirping of birds flows into my ears. This tranquility reminds me of the poem "Tao Hua Yuan Ji" by the Chinese poet Tao Yuanming thousands of years ago.

The mountains are further out. "Interlocking spurs". My geography teacher's words wake up again in my head, as if being pulled out from the bin of almost forgotten memories. The mountains layer the landscape, their dark green fading into azure blue as they run further.

After a few hours, when I look up the window in the hotel, the scene already changes. Waves of mist creep into the trees and cottages so silently, looming over and covering up the distant mountains with their cloudy colour. They paint a layer of dull grey onto the skyscape, cooling down the whole village.