Lyric

I used to live in a house where I could see the Southern Alps in the distance.
The mountain range, which had been blanketed in white throughout the long winter, gradually revealed its slopes as it welcomed the season of fresh greenery. As I gazed up at it and closed my eyes, I felt as though I could hear the sound of snow melting in the mountain valleys-even though I couldn't actually see them. Plants that had endured beneath the snow for so long and animals that had fallen into a deep slumber slowly came back to life as they basked in the sunlight. I am not there to witness it firsthand. Yet I imagine and envision the events surely unfolding there. Is that not, too, a form of play with nature?
Now, however, we find ourselves in a city in the tropics. With rice planting season now underway, I wonder if the snow on those mountains has melted away considerably by now. ThoughIhave come to a place even farther removed from that familiar landscape, the sounds I hear when I close my eyes remain unchanged.