若謂色即是空 , now that the color is gone…

Summer, Forty Years Later
Russell Edson

He struggles out of a closet where his mother had hung him forty years ago.
She didn't understand children; she probably thought he was something made of cloth.
He thinks he has waited long enough for her to understand children, even though he is no longer a child.
After forty years a man has a right to seek the hallway; after all, he might even hope for the front door — and who knows, perhaps even a Nobel Prize for patience!
From the front porch he sees that the midday sky is darker than he remembered it; the green of the lawn and trees has also darkened: too many nights, too many coats of varnish…
This is not the same summer, the color is gone…
…That little boy who is always passing the house with his wagon has turned into a little old man collecting garbage…


（貼首詩給自己。唔駛摷，自動跳出黎。每回讀之，心也戚戚。今日又見，慘相認，竟至於，竟至於——
睇怕都要再關禁四十年，方好再見天日。）