Just learned that there's an exhibition of chrysanthemum at the Yuen Yuen Institute in Tsuen Wan. Although I have attended countless talks and lectures organized by this institution which advocates the unity of Confucianism, Taoism and Buddhism, I have never once been there before. Killing two birds with one stone seemed like an eminently appealing option to me when I had breakfast this morning. So I went there. I never realized that this rather common flower could be so beautiful. I now have a headache the size of Victoria Peak deciding which of the snapshots I took to post. Maybe by color? Why not?
There were chrysanthemums everywhere: on the row of pots lining the paths up the garden, on the steps, in front of the parapets, on the walls, on the bamboo stage, in front of the temples, in the garden and upon special wooden racks for easier display.
Fellow blogger 島耕作 says that practice makes perfect. Perhaps but not really. To me, perfection is an impossible ideal. It is always there, luring one to do better. Perhaps Zeno is right, even if you were to move forward forever by a half, a quarter, an eighth, a sixteenth of the distance between where you are and your final destination, there'll always be that space further ahead which you'll never quite succeed in bridging, in closing and in reaching, ad infinitum. I remember that as a child, I was always wondering whilst walking under the moon, why it was that no matter how many steps I took, somehow, the moon would still be ahead of me. Maybe, it's a bit that like that with whatever it is that we are trying to do. One will never arrive. But still, without that dream, without that hope, no matter how illusory, one will probably stay put . One will rot in that lethargy, that fatal inertia in which one will eventually drown. And then one will have no one to blame except himself for failing to move. Perhaps we are all like Sisyphus, condemned by the gods to a life of endless toil. Still, movement seems a process which is of endless fascination to me. Perhaps movement is the very pulse of life itself. I like to feel that pulse. I don't care where it may lead me to. Enough of reflection. Time for action and for practice, despite the certainty of my knowledge of the impossibility of finally arriving.
Look at the abundance of life, its unceasing effort to grow, to develop, to strive towards its destiny and in the process, the richness of colors and forms it produces.
While the leaves of one tree is turning pink, the other is flowering
A tiny daisy
yet how proud, how erect and how fearlessly it stands !
No matter how many times I photographed the hibiscus, I can't refrain from doing it again.
This one seems to hold such hope
Here's one about to open out
And here's another
A cluster of bauhinia in full bloom
It has such alluring stamens, like a fully grown woman not at all shy about displaying her charms
These two don't want to be left out either, sticking their heads out under the leaves
See how confidently she sticks out her petals amongst the leaves
How joyful this one looks
And this one
A petal trapped by the arms of grass during its fall but its charm undiminished.
There are other tiny flowers too
They are all lined up to open, one group after another
And this solitary "lone ranger" amongst the other blue flowers
I also found this tiny nameless flower whilst photographing the blue ones.
Nearby and of the same color is this much bigger morning glory
This looks so like the flower of a melon
I caught this lovely puppy sleeping on a park bench looking so forlorn. What is she thinking about? or who? Her boy friend?
A camera at one's side is a constant temptation. The temptation becomes practically irresistible when one is bored. I went for a hike to Cheung Chau recently. On the hour-long journey there, I found it impossible not to succumb to the temptation to put my fingers on the shutter. I excused my weakness on the pretext that I needed more practice. I ended up with these shots of ennui.