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Spring
break ended with a snowfall. Barton pond was still sealed by ice, but I
heard the small creek in Kuebler Langford Park
singing. What caught my eye were tree barks and snow on tree barks. How strange
that black and white evoked a feel of spring translating into blue and
yellow on the mind. It felt as if I were dreaming. On a train running along
the very edge of an ocean, I looked out from the window: on the left, it
was blue water; on the right, hills full of lemon trees and lemons. On a
mountain top covered by snow, steam rose from the craters of a volcano. For
a moment, winds blew in lifting snow, and I couldn't see anything. I was
disoriented. A ranger took me down the mountain back to the train station.
He showed me lava following a long path on the slope, and said to me:
"When a volcano gathers sufficient magma, it erupts. Nothing could
stop its lava flowing. Not even humans." Yesterday, in the store, I
bought a soft sweater in night blue and a pencil skirt in bronzed ochre. I
also picked a knotted metal mesh necklace in golden color. I only pictured
the silver color quickly in my head, and gave it up. Now I know why I had
always avoided golden color, and even disliked it: It was I who couldn't
live up to its ripeness and richness. But I don't know why I wept.
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