Close to the foot of a mountain was an observation deck that protruded beyond the bank of a river. Standing on the deck, the bleak autumn wind roared past the ears and patted the hair on the temple against the cheek. Up, two white birds glided across the empty boundlessness; down, the wide grey river rumbling sideways pushed itself across the land to the east. The autumn plain was dressed in an earthly yellow, among which were points of scattered green and orange. No forests could be seen down there. Yet the rustling in the background coming out of nowhere reminded me of the squirrels hoarding nuts in the tree holes and rabbits foraging in the herbs and woodpeckers drumming on the tree trunks and all the simple happiness and vitality under those rustling leaves invisible to me. Yet the simple happiness was perhaps my imagination, for an observer on the deck could barely see the animals’ routine and simple comforts but was presented directly with only the overwhelming space between the sky and the land and an ever-rolling river that would never leave you enough time to fully appreciate a single crystal-clear stray from it. Yet you would still occasionally try to focus on a floating leaf, barely distinguishable when seen from above, and track it for as long as you could. Then, after what felt like an eternity, you would lose sight of it as it drifted away with the speed of a fleeting thought or an event that had once held your attention but now seemed like little more than a vague image—one that still stirred a sense of longing or wonder about which direction it might have taken and how much longer or shorter it might have remained in my sight, had a different current carried it.
Gradually, at the horizon where the land kissed the skyline, several lava-colored rays burst through the clouds. They were almost too vivid, too shocking for the eyes to bear. The radiance shattered the lumpy clouds like Gandalf’s staff splitting the rock to save the dwarves from the trolls. The clouds were now stretched into long and thin fogs, revealing the burning setting sun. The glowing hue cast all over the vast space between the land, river, and sky, to the point that the pupils of the viewer became red on fire as well. It was as if the sun must burn itself out to create this splendor that could illuminate the vastness and the ever-rolling thing beneath it.