由此向东五米外 eastwards, five meters away Part Ⅲ

我又拍了许多树的照片，有一些是连贯的，有一些是零散的，渐渐地我拍摄的树比我认识的人还要多。

每棵树都有自己讲述生命故事的方式，或是通过它们独特的皮肤，姿态和皱褶，初生的嫩芽与腐朽的残躯。又或是化身沉默的传信者，载着某个生物寄送的温情与诗意跨越空间抵达另一双眼睛。

树木给了我一些错觉，它们可能和这世界上其他的生灵相处的久了，也染上些生灵的脾性。有时候遇到一棵树，会没有缘由的感觉这棵树好像是一个人。若能借时间的眼去看树，或许可以窥见树木的真相：它们是地表上沉默的巨人，只因步履不同才与我们隔世相望。

我的观看不过是盲人摸树，握不住时间，也无法触及树与光阴的筋骨。我只是将自己放逐于林间，与枝头的鸟，地面的虫一起用目光摩挲树木。再把自己的困惑与树讲，融入几条年轮。


                    

I’ve captured more trees through my lens—some in sequences, others as solitary frames—until their number quietly surpassed the faces I know.

Each tree tells its story: through bark etched by seasons, postures bent by wind, tender shoots piercing crevices, or fallen limbs heavy with decay. They serve as silent messengers too, carrying warmth and verse entrusted by one creature across distances to meet another’s gaze.

Trees seed illusions in me. Having dwelled among living things so long, they’ve absorbed traces of their temperaments. Sometimes a tree stands before me, rootless reason whispering: This one feels human.
Were I to borrow time’s eye, I might glimpse their truth—that they are earth’s silent colossi, gazing across epochs at us who walk to different steps.

My seeing remains a blind hand tracing bark: unable to grasp time, much less touch the sinew binding tree and hour. So I exile myself to the woods. Alongside branch-perched birds and soil-drudging insects, we trace trunks with our eyes. There, I whisper my bewilderment to the trees—letting it seep into their rings, weaving it into time.