初訪落雪山

（一）暮春流連

本應炎熱的季節，暮春踏著留戀腳步，遲遲不願離去。遠眺遠方，開普山脈橫跨東北，天際能見雲兒飄落，又是雲起的日子。心中思緒一動，別無他想，逕向落雪山自然保護區（Mt Rochelle Nature Reserve）而去。

穿透雲層，恣意揮灑的陽光，近郊牧場能見羊群低頭昂首，吹過悠閒的風，原野翻騰著滾滾麥浪，不由自主放緩速度，在這人煙稀少的鄉間小路。今日不趕，不趕今日，欲行何方終行何方，應止何處將止何處。

車程莫約一個鐘頭，再次來到法國角（Franschhoek），經過翠綠的葡萄園，銜接翻嶺山路，來到最後一個轉折，轉折處駛入黃土路，黃土路前豎著保護區的告示。落雪山，初次邂逅，邂逅於溫暖的暮春時日，雲兒雖多卻不厚，正午陽光充足，充足但不燙熱。風兒微微，微微吹動這顆嚮往的心。

欲行何方，心之所向；將止何處，心之所向。放任這顆心吧！熱愛自由仰慕自然，體驗自在掌握自主，不假思索的自得自適，喜悅最美。遂捨車踏上旅程，入口處完成登記手續，繳付管理費再添購一張地圖，地圖清楚標示不同路徑所需時間，幾番衡量決定這條路線，主因其名「景觀」（Uitkyk, Outlook）應有可觀之處。

（二）入山凝望

凝望，天寬地廣再次進入眼眸：遠方湛藍的湖泊水庫（Theewaterskloof）與近處翠綠的法國村，一道山脈兩方隔開，而省道43號不斷攀升經過這道山脈，峰迴路轉連結山裡山外，如今窺得全景，開普山水了然於心。

腳下黃土，由大路轉小徑，沿途步道標示清楚，坡度緩緩升高，逕向西北西不斷深入，黃土漸少碎石更多，時而清楚時而無法辨識。無法辨識的時候，心中陣陣忐忑，畢竟初來，路徑對我不熟。腳步，時而輕鬆時而費力；呼吸，時而悠長時而短促，汗水淋漓揮落。

（三）花與心

興起，腳步歌唱登山的喜悅。對流浪的風唱著旅行的歌，幽靜的空山啊，音響震動的一時，終究消逝於寂靜的永恆。寂靜，收拾紛亂的心，轉寂為寧，由寧而安。專注當下，步步向前頻頻回首，用心拍攝眼前風景。花朵縱然枯寂，身後亦有駐足欣賞之機，不禁想像生前風姿。

山中的花，綻放凋零自有時，固然不為誰而開，但眼前的這朵花，確實因我前來而存在啊！「未看此花，此花與心同歸於寂。」今日我來，今日相見，此花遂與我同在，頓時鮮活起來。存在，花與賞花人共同時空不能分割，見花存在當覺心體應在，或許這就是陽明的了悟，也是採菊東籬，淵明的悠然吧！賞花見山，我今亦然，欲辨忘言，飛鳥與還。

行行復行，浮雲飄過山巔，陽光不經意穿透山谷，灑落的瞬間，感受和煦溫馨。那個與花同在的我，不曾踽踽獨行啊！與他陪伴的還有這座山巒，這片天地，這顆滾燙於肺葉的心。行行復行，觀四方，還似武陵人暫遊桃源裏，雖不急著瞥見終點景致，歸山深淺去多時，終達須盡丘壑美的折返處。

凝望許久，許久凝望，凝望眼，綿延山脈來自遠方湖泊，群峰聳立而崖巔孤絕，風雲洶湧隱沒其中，瀉落自由舞動的光芒，山壑石壁在照耀中變化陰晴明暗，盪開這塊與世隔絕的峽谷。返景入深林，復照青苔上，而我佇立其中，空山已見人，不聞人語響。靜默了，空靈高遠，風兒呼嘯有飛鷹遨翔雲天；忘言了，蒼茫壯闊，峽谷連峰有斜陽映照眼前。念及旅居之身，堂上雙親、膝下弟妹猶健，此乃造化之慈。人生萬事難得全，得失榮枯，且隨天命而安。該來則來，應去則去，心平始能坦然。

（四）山中沉思

試算此峰至彼峰之角度為幾弧，三角函數求望山之孤，微積分換算凝視之獨。

層層螺旋的花苞輝映多重光澤，隱藏其中的花兒宇宙啊，深不可測！愈是炙熱，燦爛陽光折射，愈能展現本色。還似顏淵聖哲，貧瘠土壤不改其樂，天候縱不測，迎風皆自得。

近處花內層疊的曲折，遠方山巔綿延的稜線，相似在相似間似曾相識，我凝望著相似在碎形中無盡延展山水，只取一片曼德博集，放入回憶的發散與收斂。

等待還須多久，帝王復活山谷鮮紅？帝王花浴火而生，不啻花中鳳凰。怎不想起摩詰詩？木末芙蓉花，山中發紅萼。澗戶寂無人，紛紛開且落。

行到水窮，坐看雲起；雲起風湧，不得不歸。向山谷訣別歸去，捨來路取他徑下山，登高再望直到消失眼眸，再攀昇百尺轉杜特伊峰（Du Toitskop）沿山崖謹慎而行。雲霧繚繞四周，清新冷冽，腳下路徑隱沒雜草亂石，朦朧渾沌，只得緩緩前進。

（五）捨山回歸

雲兒眷戀山巔，遂留雲兒於峰頂。約兩三百尺則小徑漸明，路亦愈平，幾次迴轉下降，忽見一隅青綠，法國角驀然在前。身後飄落厚重痕跡，幾抹烏雲黯淡了天，頃刻光明乍現，陽光一道衝破雲煙，照亮雙眼。

回到停車處已過六時，趁天色未深，迅速駛離落雪山。歸去了，遠樹帶行客，恰似凝視花朵的心思；孤城當落暉，還如望山的情懷。歸去了，些許欣喜，漸離漸遠；些許惆悵，漸遠漸離。須歸，將歸，復歸，終歸....天命無怨色，人生有素風。

（六）遺緒

歸來整理再相逢。相片聚焦時空，山水顯隱行蹤。且隨風，歸山深淺恍如夢。峰巒幾重，湛藍翠綠浮雲中。

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First Visit to Mount Rochelle

I. Late Spring Lingering

The season should already have turned hot, yet late spring lingered, reluctant to depart. Looking toward the distance, the Cape mountains stretched across the northeastern horizon. Clouds drifted slowly across the sky—another day of rising mist. A quiet impulse stirred within me. Without further thought, I set out for Mt Rochelle Nature Reserve.

Sunlight broke through the clouds and spread across the land. In the nearby pastures, sheep lifted and lowered their heads while a steady wind moved through fields where waves of grain rolled softly. On this quiet country road, almost empty of traffic, I found myself easing the speed of the car.

Today, let there be no haste. 
Whither I lead, I go; where I rest, I remain.

After an hour’s drive I arrived once again at Franschhoek. Passing the vineyards and winding mountain roads, I reached the final turn and entered a yellow dirt track marked by the reserve’s sign. Mount Rochelle—our first encounter. It was a warm day in late spring. The clouds were many but light, and the midday sun was bright without being harsh. A gentle breeze moved through the valley and stirred a quiet anticipation within me.

Leaving the car behind, I began the walk. At the entrance I registered, paid the conservation fee, and obtained a map marking the various trails and their estimated times. After a brief look I chose the route called Uitkyk, “Outlook.” The name itself suggested a view worth seeking.

II. Entering the Mountain

Soon I paused and looked outward. Vastness returned to my sight. Far away lay the blue waters of Theewaterskloof Dam, while nearer the green valley of Franschhoek spread quietly below. A single mountain ridge divided the two. Route 43 climbed steadily through the heights, twisting between slopes and passes, linking the valleys within the mountains to the wider world beyond. From this vantage point the structure of the Cape landscape suddenly became clear.

The road beneath my feet gradually narrowed into a trail. Dust slowly gave way to gravel as the path climbed toward the west-northwest. At times the route was clear; at times it faded among stones and grass. Whenever the path disappeared, a small uneasiness rose within me. It was my first time here, and the terrain was unfamiliar.

Steps heavy, then light; breathing long, then short. Sweat gathered and fell as the climb continued. Yet with each step the rhythm of walking gradually settled the mind.

III. The Flower and the Mind

As I climbed higher, a quiet joy emerged. The mountain was silent, and even the smallest sound faded quickly back into stillness. In that silence the scattered mind slowly gathered itself.

Along the path I noticed a flower. Flowers in the mountains bloom and fade according to their own seasons; they do not blossom for anyone in particular. Yet the flower before me existed now because I had come to see it.

“Before looking at this flower, it and my mind both sank into silence.” In the moment of seeing, observer and blossom entered the same world. Perhaps this reflects something of Wang Yangming’s insight: that mind and world are not separate. Perhaps it echoes the quiet ease of Tao Yuanming among chrysanthemums. Standing there between flower and mountain, I felt for a moment the simplicity of that thought.

Clouds drifted slowly across the ridge. Sunlight slipped through a valley and warmed the air. In that moment I realized that I was not walking alone. With me were the mountains, the sky, and the quiet warmth within my chest.

Eventually I reached a high ridge and stood gazing across the distance. Mountain ranges stretched outward from the lake below. Peaks rose sharply against the sky while cliffs stood alone in the wind. Clouds moved quickly through the valleys, and light poured across the rock walls, shifting constantly between brightness and shadow.

Silence settles; ethereal and distant, the wind howls as a lone eagle soars through the clouds. Words fail; vast and magnificent, the canyon peaks stand as the setting sun reflects before my eyes.

My thoughts turned toward my life as a traveler—to my parents and siblings under the same roof, all blessed with good health. This, I recognize, is the mercy of creation. Life rarely grants completeness. Gain and loss, rise and fall. One must accept them as they come. Only a calm mind can remain at peace and at ease.

IV. Contemplation on the Mountain

Standing there, I began to think about the geometry of the landscape.

Trigonometry measures the solitude of the mountain; calculus converts the loneliness of the gaze.

Nearby, spiral buds reflected sunlight in layered colors. Within each flower seemed to lie a small universe, deep and unknowable. The fiercer the sun, the more clearly their true colors appeared—like the sage Yan Hui, whose joy remained unshaken by barren soil. However unpredictable the weather, one remains self-possessed in the wind.

The curves of petals nearby and the distant ridges of the mountains seemed strangely alike. Their forms repeated across different scales, extending outward like fractals in nature. Looking at this landscape of patterns, I imagined a fragment of the Mandelbrot set, placing the divergence and convergence of memory within its endless unfolding.

The thought brought to mind the King Protea, rising from fire like a phoenix. And then a poem by Wang Wei surfaced quietly in memory:

Hibiscus blossoms at the branch tips,
red petals opening in the mountains.
The valley is silent and empty—
flowers bloom and fall on their own.

V. Leaving the Mountain

Reluctantly I left the valley, descending along another path and climbing once more toward Du Toitskop. Mist wrapped the slopes in cold air. The trail vanished among grass and scattered stones, and I moved forward slowly through the haze.

Clouds lingered around the summit, and I left them there.

After descending several hundred meters the path gradually became clearer. Turning a final bend, I suddenly saw a patch of green: the valley of Franschhoek appearing once again before me. Behind me dark clouds gathered, dimming the sky. Then suddenly a shaft of sunlight broke through the cloudbank and illuminated the land.

By the time I returned to the car it was already past six. Before darkness fell, I left Mount Rochelle behind.

The road home stretched quietly ahead. Distant trees seemed to accompany the traveler, and the town below rested beneath the fading light of evening. A little joy slowly fading. A little melancholy drifting away.

I must return, I shall return, I return at last.
Fate bears no resentment; life has its own simple wind.

VI. Coda

Later, looking again at the photographs, time and space gathered once more. Mountains and valleys appeared and disappeared within the frame. Let them follow the wind. The mountains now seemed like a dream: peaks layered beyond peaks, blue and green beneath drifting clouds.

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