Friday, September 18, 2009

Fan Jinghua: Cool Warmth

        Cool Warmth

  The rain that drizzles after the noon wets everything into the nightfall, and eventually it seems to be dried by the sizzling lights everywhere. So the moon swags outside the window through a thin branched tree, as if it is taking the same post to fit into my memory of it.
  It pleases me, on purpose, perhaps. Anyway, I am a little moved, so I go out to a nearby supermarket, for some greens, or a bunch of ordinary flowers or two.
  The road face is juicy with some sparkles. The sky is deep blue tinged with black. Clouds write in huge strokes, and it is an abstract piece of abstract art, or calligraphy of foreign maybe antique language unknown to me. It is self-composed, or even a little detached, or it chooses to be distant, not aloof, merely for the sake of solitude so its stance means.
  I walk slowly, and gradually my steps turn into that of a mandarin strolling in the imperial garden. Everything in the universe slows down and surrounding noises lower their pitch like a galloping horse in a movie is played out in slow motion with the frame stretched out. Things take longer space in time. My sense of touch becomes cooler, so everything I see appears warmer.
  When I see the little square outside the supermarket, with a scattering of cars and vans, a summer has gone when I have loved several women.
                   Sept. 17, 2009



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