A tiny blip in the continuum

A trip back to an Army camp today allowed me to catch up on some reading. It was ironic that a day, which had been designed with an intended purpose, to be spent in the company of others, would translate into one that granted me the most time to myself. Then again, who would expect anything else from reservist training sessions?

There was a lot of waiting, of milling about waiting for something to happen. In the bouts of free time and the occasional distraction, I finished February Flowers by Fan Wu. It was a good read, the story tender and bittersweet, the characters real. The ending left me silent and thoughtful, which, akin to the same effect an especially touching film would wash over me leaving the theater, was always a good thing.

Strangely, I kept picturing Finicky Feline’s face whenever I was reading passages about the protagonist. Perhaps her youthful face has got something to do with it.

* * * * * *

The poem below opened the story:

山行

远上寒山石径斜，白云生处有人家。
停车坐爱枫林晚，霜叶红于二月花。

– 杜牧

Far into the cold mountain a stone trail winds aslant,
Where white clouds rise a house appears,
Stopping my carriage, I sit to admire the late maple forest,
The frosted leaves are redder than February flowers.

- Du Mu (Tang Dynasty, 803―852)

The translation doesn’t do the poem justice. Translations rarely do, anyway.

* * * * * *

Early on in the day, one of the fellow attendees had noticed the novel and my Moleskine, both items inseparable, and had made a comment.

“You read a lot? And you write.”

I laughed nervously, surprised that someone would notice and take interest.

“I’m a writer,” was the reply that was all too quickly corrected as I realized how misleading it sounded.

“Not professionally,” I clarified. I sounded almost apologetic. “I maintain a blog.”

That got his interest. When he asked to be given my blog address, I politely declined.

Sometimes you simply knew, without a need for justification, how some people are meant to remain in the periphery.

* * * * * *

I am such a literary frotteur; I can never leave a post alone in the minutes right after I’ve published it.

Strange; I say that as though it gives you a better idea of what I’m like.