《落雪山望雪》

— 初寫於2020年，英譯於2026年 —

穿越法國角（Franschhoek），再次踏上落雪山自然保護區（Mt Rochelle Nature Reserve）。去年初夏今年冬末，步履相同路徑，大自然展現不同風情。甫過昨日冷鋒，乍暖今日氣候，逾午陽光灑落入口，陰雲猶在天邊，隨步道走向半陰半晴，空氣清新冷冽。從入口到觀景點（Uitkyk, Outlook），往返約九公里，路線清楚且狀況良好，攀升約四百公尺，身手矯健者三小時即可完成。

開普山脈縱橫南北，極限峰從北層層疊起，杜特伊峰不斷綿延，群峰此處交會向南迤邐而去，海德堡峰峰相連直到海岸線。今日所見對照昔日地圖參研，心中明白不少。走向登山階梯，見到白雪覆蓋的山峰，即是馬頭山（Perdekop），從此西去愈來愈深，直到盡頭，即是觀景點。那裡是一處懸崖峭壁，遠處湖泊映照天藍，則是威門舒克水庫（Wemmershoek Dam），眼前最雄偉的山峰，則是海拔1725公尺的威門舒克峰（Wemmershoek Peak）。

落雪山望山，蒼白山峰留住眼前當下，明明白白就是橫斷天際的雄壯山脈。觀景小徑來到盡頭，凝神佇立於懸崖邊緣，跨越再往前推進，將墜峽谷深淵。隔著狹小而細長的山谷，矗立眼前的山脈啊，峰嶺籠罩雲兒深處，陽光穿透翻滾的雲霧，照耀在不可觸及的險峻山崖。顯露的岩塊因水氣而潤濕，濕潤的山岡顏色較深，襯托光影明暗，山豁因此美麗。

風聲劃破山谷寂靜，光影投射山岡莊嚴。缺乏植披的山崖，累累巨石層層疊起，多重架構展現線條紋路，殘餘冰雪順著紋路，留下甚深甚明的山稜輪廓，而稜角忽然隱沒忽然顯露，冰雪雲霧頓時朦朧。眼眸不斷舉望，望向山的極限，眺望遠山更遠，想像深山更深。山嶺風，峰崖雪，逸興遄飛。

落雪山望雪，蒼白雪中落下茫茫昨日，點點滴滴匯成今日滾滾溪水：流淌著昨日，流淌著前天，流淌著風雪交加的日子。壯碩的山啊，想必是有感情的，應該是有觸動的，他們堅忍守護的歲月，涓涓細流終於逝去了。紛紛遺落山岩的冰塊，淚珠的稜角如此碩大，我要仔細端詳，端詳之後再輕輕搵去，抓住這份湧現的情感，喜悅突然迸出，熱淚消融冰雪，昨日得到解決。

大雪縱然紛飛，落下無聲無息，然而消融了匯成小溪，轟隆奔騰而去。昨日的步履，落下無聲無息，然而踏印時光接軌未來，透露何許弦音？凝思著，我將問題留給深山，他日歸來，答案或許清明。

Gazing at the Snow on Mt Rochelle

— First written in 2020, translated into English in 2026 —

Passing through Franschhoek, I set foot once more in the Mt Rochelle Nature Reserve. Early summer last year, winters end this year—the same path underfoot, and nature shows a different face. Yesterdays cold front just past, todays weather suddenly mild; past noon the sunlight spilled over the entrance while grey cloud still hung at the skys edge, and the trail led on through half-shade and half-shine, the air fresh and biting cold. From the entrance to the viewpoint (Uitkyk, "Outlook") is about nine kilometers there and back, the route clear and in good condition, climbing some four hundred meters; the quick of limb can finish it in three hours.

The Cape ranges run the length and breadth of north and south: Limietberg, the Mountain of Limits, rises fold upon fold from the north, the Du Toits peaks run on without end; here the ranges converge and wind away southward, the Helderberg linking peak to peak down to the coastline. What I saw today, checked against the maps I had studied, settled much in my mind. Walking toward the climbing steps, the snow-covered summit in view is Perdekop, Horse Head Mountain; from there the way runs west, deeper and deeper, to the very end—the Outlook. There a sheer cliff drops away; the far lake mirroring the skys blue is the Wemmershoek Dam, and the mightiest peak before the eyes is Wemmershoek Peak, 1,725 meters above the sea.

On the mountain of falling snow, I gaze at the mountain: the pale peaks hold the eye, hold it fast—plainly, unmistakably, a mighty range cutting across the sky. The viewing track comes to its end; I stand collected at the cliff edge—one step past it and over, and it is the fall into the gorges abyss. Across the narrow, drawn-out valley, the range that stands before me—its crests wrapped deep in cloud, sunlight driving through the tumbling mist to shine on crags sheer past all touching. The bared rock is wet with the moisture in the air; the wet slopes run darker, setting off the light against the shadow, and the mountains clefts are beautiful for it.

Wind-sound splits the valleys silence; light and shadow cast the slopes in solemnity. On cliffs bare of cover, boulder on boulder rises layer over layer, structure upon structure showing its lines and grain; the last of the ice and snow follows the grain, leaving the ridgelines drawn deep and drawn clear—and the edges now sink from sight, now stand out, ice and cloud gone suddenly dim. The eye keeps lifting, gazing toward the mountains limit, looking past the far hills farther, imagining the deep hills deeper. Wind on the ridges, snow on the crags—and the spirit, loosed, soars.

On the mountain of falling snow, I gaze at the snow: into the pale white falls the vast blur of yesterday, and drop by drop it gathers into todays rolling stream—flowing with yesterday, flowing with the day before, flowing with the days of wind and snow together. These massive mountains—surely they have feeling; surely they are moved. The years these mountains had guarded so long, with such endurance, now ran away at last in trickling threads. The lumps of ice dropped and scattered on the rock—teardrops with edges so immense—I must study them closely, and having studied them, gently dab them away; and seizing this welling of feeling, joy breaks suddenly out, hot tears melt the ice and snow: yesterday is settled.

Heavy snow may fall and fall without sound or breath; yet melted, it gathers to a stream and goes thundering away. Yesterdays footsteps fell without sound or breath; yet printed into time, they carry the moment forward, meeting what is yet to come—what note of the string do they let sound? Pondering, I leave the question with the deep mountains. Another day, returning, the answer may be clear and bright.