Fine Dust
Article/Photos: Lo Senhao The Datun River Valley breathes out layers of foggy mist. From the rhyming roots of an acacia forest, it penetrates the chilly beauty of Prunus campanulata, soaks the color-changing Liquidambar formosana, infiltrates tiny pine needles, and even erodes my dispirited pores that have been covered by calcium deposits, repeatedly weathers my longtime imprisoned heart and soul, and decomposes every part of my body. One by one, my irregular aged cells are drifting and floating, with the blowing northeastern monsoon wind, in Article/Photos: Lo Senhao ritual. The top of the roof is filled with mysterious energy, opening all...