A place for the paths you walked and the feelings you left behind.
The wind moved across the singing sand slowly. As I climbed the ridge from Crescent Lake, the sun was slipping into the shadow of the Qilian range.
The way the rain dripped from the eaves felt more like Jiangnan than West Lake itself.
The wall is not tall, but after a full lap you understand what the two characters Chang'an mean.
A long walk on an ordinary street
I had nowhere I really wanted to go today, so I just walked a long time on an ordinary street. The breeze fell through the leaves, and somehow it felt like a kind of travel too.
Outside the window the mountains moved, the clouds moved, only time stayed still.
The flagstones were still damp, an old man brewing tea beneath the eaves — quiet, almost like a voice-over.
A note to myself
Some roads have to be walked alone — not to arrive, just to know you can still walk.
An afternoon by the river
Did nothing — the sound of the water was everything.