A day of Halcyon

(all images are originally photographed by me during my trip to Hong Kong)

my fingers gently soften and rest lightly against my palm. i gradually allow the back of my palm absorb the sun that so radiantly shines through the brewing clouds.

the ferry gracefully sails across the rocky waves that hum the exact lullaby daily. the engine composes a certain tune that gives a beat – to my feet slowly thumping to its melody.

the scent of salt, sea salt. the thoughts of crinkling crunchy chips creeping into my salivating mouth. or perhaps, i was just dreaming of diving into the sea as the waters cling onto my hair – leaving a prominent distinct smell. let alone, look.

 

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as i quietly settle into one of the convertible seats, a sweet chuckle captures my short span of attention. the daily motions of people continued on. the waves still lightly choppy, the ferry still elegantly sailing.

by the side of the ferry – a father ever so tenderly lifts his baby over the rail to expose his dear baby to the many wonders of the world. of the little things that we merely brush on by. intriguing isn’t it? the baby glances at such a phenomenon as the father whispers:

“life is like a wave. at times smooth sailing, other times choppy. but i’ll always be riding the waves with you.”

what a beautiful sight of a father’s love. the tiniest of actions that can yet speak a thousand words.

 

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the tranquility whispers right by me.

the feeling of warmth that very evening by the sea  – as i watched the sunset, oh how mesmerizing.  the sun that looked seemingly like a yolk. the soft yet hearty glow of hope that eventually rests behind the clouds of fragility.

far across that horizon, the gradient of colors that comprises with it. what a dear package to post to oneself. i gently lift my index finger up and place it right at where the sun shone. imagining it as a blank canvas – i carefully stroke the bright solid yellow across; one end to the next. pretending it was chalk, the gradient of yellow slowly emerged.

 

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if only i could capture every sunrise and every sunset of every day – to document the beauty that each day holds.

as i peered into houses along the village of homely feels – i couldn’t help but notice the orange-yellow lights that conveyed a home of love and warmth. the scent of succulent basil marinated chicken along with freshly steamed rice lingers through the chilly winds.

with the radio tape on – the jazzy tunes that ring through the house. a cozy little apartment with the routines of life that i myself so take for granted. yet a sight of such a lovely tranquil meal together as a family tapped on my heart.

 

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it appears that every household writes a different story. perhaps, orange-yellow lights didn’t do the trick. but white lights of purity did.

some enjoyed climbing up a flight of stairs to reach home while others – preferred it right at ground level.

yet, the simplicity of living – just time together. 

 

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the rustic feels of certain buildings draw nigh onto the notion of art and perhaps, even culture.

i gently shut my eyes – allow the images to settle within me. the beauty of living, of the fresh flowers that still grow by the side of the streets.

the bucolic surrounding that portrayed yet a picturesque sight unto me.

such a pulchritudinous moment that captivated me of which i found tremendously alluring.

 

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the evening commute home – no cars, no trains, no bus. only his two-wheeled manual bicycle.

no grimacing mobile device that wallops his attention.

he dismounted from his bicycle and meticulously pushed it forward. the street lamp kisses the pavement and paves his way home.

i stood behind, effortlessly snapping a few shots of this sight.

the night sky begins to show itself off as it greedily swallows the sun up. i fastidiously fasten my camera strap around my neck and casually pace myself onwards.

the shadow of him created by the lamp post told a tale – a non-complicated realistic tale.

his red jacket – oh chilly wind, let it easy on him.

no jackets in the world could ever hide inner turmoil, not even big red fluffy ones. 

 

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tucking itself softly into the blankets of clouds – the sun whispers good night.

the bulbs of Edison shine so brightly  –  as though illuminating a sense of hope to the very moment.

the television broadcasts and channels the laughter.

i carefully stroke my hair back – appreciating a very non-flamboyant sight of livelihood right before my eyes.

 

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the beauty: certainly.

let me relive – my day, a day of Halcyon.

Halcyon: a beauty of the past – a small village that spoke to me.

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