09:12
At around nine am, waking up, I hear voices from the window on the southeast side: scaffold tubes clanging against each other, large machines running, workers talking, indicating, commanding, joking, laughing — they are building a new house for someone.
Who used to live here? I don't know.
Within two hours, I can see half of the silvery scaffolding emerging into my view. A man stands on a narrow and thin platform, at least three meters above the ground, without any visible physical protection. I wonder if the only protection comes from within — his experience.
How many years of experience would let him move so flexibly and fearlessly? I don’t know.
Looking down, there is a truck carrying scaffold tubes. Those are going to be added to another part of the scaffolding I guess. Today's work, or perhaps the entire structure, is going to be finished very soon at this pace.
Too fast.
Who could imagine that the view from your window in the morning could be different only a few hours later?
A new landscape is emerging.
What will it look like? I will see.
But what did it look like a year ago? A month? Yesterday? An hour?
I can't remember.
Or perhaps I never really knew.
LIU
