This chair is much lower than D, making it far more comfortable to sit in. There are noticeably fewer joggers now, and a shrill alarm sounds from behind, followed by a roaring noise. There are also far fewer people out walking. This occasionally gives me the attention to observe someone closely—though to be honest, I often hesitate to do so, fearing my staring might make them uncomfortable. So I only glance occasionally, quickly recording every detail I can notice. For instance, two women walk their dog in the distance—a gray Schnauzer. They appear leisurely, moving slowly, one dressed in brown, the other in white. A gust of wind carries debris from the trees against the light, likely pollen, glistening in the sun. Behind me came the creaking sound of some vehicle passing by, sounding as if it might fall apart at any moment. People sometimes walked by in groups, other times alone. More often than not, they passed by one at a time. This reminded me of some very beautiful memories from when I was alone, which cheered me up considerably. Because it suddenly made me feel like I was living life rather than merely documenting it. But delving into all this made it hard for me to truly live in the moment. More often than not, I’m an observer.
The view from this chair is wide open—looking up reveals a vast expanse of blue sky, while the surrounding canopy offers little obstruction. Were it not for the frequent sounds of vehicles passing behind me, I’d feel life moving at a slow pace. I can’t help but imagine what this place would be like if no one else were here. Another gust of wind arrives, becoming one of the few moments worth celebrating. I’ve seen countless people pass by, yet I truly can’t remember any of them.
At first, I was absorbed in the constant flow of sounds, footsteps, cars, birds, voices, and in trying to keep up with their directions, overlaps, and rhythms. Yet over time, sound alone began to feel repetitive, even dull, which pushed me to widen my attention. I started noticing how light flickered through leaves, how people moved and interacted, and even how my own body responded to cold or the height of the bench.