After Island《島嶼後像》









The spring arrives, as I arrive in this island again.

With neither mist nor spring drizzle, the warm sunlight, the verdant grassland, the calm sea … they remain as they were in my first visit five years ago. Perhaps the double-decker is the only development.

I pack my stuff, grasp my rangefinder camera, and become a traveler relying on the body memory. I devour familiar scenery through the viewfinder. I follow old paths to old spots like stubborn cattle roam through their pastoral route every day.

I start from a holiday resort and stroll along a coastal drive. I enter a beach. Grains of sand linger around footfalls. I circle about and come back to where I start. Through a rustic lane, I follow a trail of footsteps to wilderness where I rejoin the cattle. Some are cooling themselves off in the mud pond; others are letting up under the tree. They moisten one another as if a way of comforting in the times of absurdity. Such a bulky body, such a tender move … such affection is common to all life.

They symbolize my life force, to a certain extent. The south bank of this island becomes an end of my memory. Spaced out into nostalgia, it strikes me that the cattle are gone. Only a few egrets and trodden haystacks remain.

It must have been the sun. I have no complaint. Nothing could be more natural.

© 2016-2022 Chan Long Hei 
Using Format