Renegadetourist

Posts Tagged ‘Fleeting beauty’

Road 14 near Hehuanshan, 12:47 pm

In Place description, Writing on 2017/04/03 at 15:26

The road follows a mountain ridge, not far from the top, dipping and curving with the contours of the mountains. We are just past the peak, descending into the valley. Though the slope is gentle, it’s enough to keep us rolling, and despite the thin air, I no longer need to fight to keep the bike moving. As the road straightens out a bit, I dare cast a glance to the left and the whole landscape opens up. Beyond the barrier at the  edge of the road, the mountain side slopes steeply downwards to the valley below, then rises skywards again on the other side, forming another ridge on the opposite side. Behind that, range upon range of imposing mountains, a multitude of peaks that look like they are floating in the mist, each layer becoming more and more duffuse until they disappear beyond the horizon. It is spectacularly beautiful but only last a moment, then I have to direct my gaze at the road again.

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Fuguo road, 6:11 pm.

In Poetic prose, Writing on 2016/06/28 at 10:57

Big drops are falling from a leaden sky, pitter patterning against the visor of my helmet. The low clouds have made the backstreets of my even commute even more dull than normal,  nothing but wet asphalt and grey buildings all the way. I mount the steep slope of the bridge across the highway, and just as I reach the crest, the world opens up in front of me. In the distance, visible only because the rain has cleared away the smog of the city, I can see the mountains; layers upon layers of ever darkening shades of green against the backdrop of the sky tainted faintly yellow by the setting sun. It lasts but a moment before the road slopes downward again, bringing me back down below the clouds.

Beach in Hualien 12:25 pm

In Place description, Poetic prose, Writing on 2010/10/17 at 15:08

The sky is blue and the bright sun makes the clear blue water dazzle. Under my bare feet is a mass of smooth, palm size, sea polished, round stones. The stone beach stretches out to my left in a sort of natural pier between the sea and the river mouth, and curls a little towards the tip where the river meets the sea. I sit down to watch the waves for a little while. Close to the coast the water brings with it sand and stones and turns from a brilliant blue to a darker, more muddled hue as the green curls over and the white falls under. The splashing foam sparkles in the sun and behind the deep booming of the waves i can hear the rustle of a million small stones rubbing against each other as the strong current draws them up and throws them down again. I use my feet to frame the scene, watching the waves and listening to the rhythmic rustle and boom. I wish there could be a second pair of feet next to mine, to make this a truly beautiful moment. I wonder where those feet are?

Utlandagatan 4:30 am

In Place description, Writing on 2010/07/08 at 02:59

I am walking home, tired from the exercise, the mild air is no longer cool enough and the street lights have been turned off. In just one hour the sky has turned from a deep blue to a bland light grey, but at the edge to the east, the band of yellow and orange has shifted to a dodgy shade of pink that gradually thickens to a powerful red. I can draw two conclusions at this moment. One is that there are few better ways to spend the early hours of the morning than skateboarding down traffic free roads and two, that you will never tire of the beauty of a sunrise.