 
The pattern, the mode of flow. In vain, it is the invisible state of current stability. The harbour is a narrowing spike that hides away the metabolic rate of the city. These days the city is calm under the northwesterly wind. Blurred images, stunned by the tilted natural light, the boats are floating in the middle of the dead end of the banks. Flowing pattern, passing through the transparent glass. Recording the flow of the water on the surface, it is a web of the innocence. Transmission, I feel in touch with the reflective surface of the same flow in a metamorphic sight of distance. Life in Hong Kong is still on, but it keeps a distance away from the inner me.
See the classic boat of Hong Kong. It is there, but nobody is starring at it.Libellés : hk, nature, self, victoria |
You write very well.