My Last Spring in New Zealand
I barely remembered when was it, probably two weeks before I left New Zealand with Jared, and I couldn't possibly be sure whether that fateful decision had been sealed, but now in retrospect, all those didn't matter anymore.
What mattered the most was on that sunny, casual afternoon, the scent of spring densely permeated the thin, crispy air, and I strolled along the familiar street, something stirring in my heart, a kind of habitual engagement with all sort of thoughts in loneliness, the moment I nakedly braced myself to confront all the adversaries. Honestly, it was close to an unbearable breaking point at times, more than what a mundane man like me could ever endure, the colossal weight of responsibilities as a father kept attempting to tear me apart.
But I moved on, just like I leisurely strolled along the sidewalk of a residential area, passing by the manicured lawns of the houses, cherry blossoms bloomed uncontrollably, the heartbeat of spring drummed so loud that it was audible everywhere, and then, from afar I spotted this high fences cloaked in the bloody red rug, it was so red that it nearly blinded my vision, a spontaneous visual impact that dumbfounded my mind and fathomlessly touched my heart.
They were just flowers that I couldn't tell the name, I halted and gazed at those blood-tainted flowers, they signified the forceful will of life to shine, to transcend the true meaning of their short-lived beauty. I lingered around for quite a while to take some shots, it was too wasteful to just hushedly walk by, as I knew I had to remember this part of fences, all these ethereally red flowers that knitted the last few patches of the memories of my last spring in New Zealand.
(Napier, New Zealand - 2019)
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