I don’t know who the woman was, but I remember her words exactly. She’d signed up for a bird walk as part of the Galle Literary Festival, a celebration held every year in the fort town on Sri Lanka’s south coast. For most of our walk she’d seemed vaguely baffled. But then she’d looked through borrowed binoculars at the paddy-field marshes across the road. There, softened by mist and distance, was an extraordinary number of birds: pond herons, black-tailed godwits, greenshanks, wood sandpipers, pheasant-tailed jacanas resembling animate china ornaments and little green bee-eaters that glowed like neon bulbs. Flocks of whiskered terns rose and fell like slow breaths in the dusk air.
我不認識那位女士，但她的話我記得非常清楚。她報名參加了加勒文學節(Galle Literary Festival)的一次觀鳥徒步活動，這個慶典每年都會在斯里蘭卡(Sri Lanka)南海岸的要塞小鎮加勒舉行。大部分時間裏，她似乎都顯得有些困惑。但後來，她借來一副望遠鏡，看向馬路對面的稻田沼澤。霧氣和距離讓那裏的景色變得柔和，映入眼簾的是數量驚人的鳥類：池鷺、黑尾塍鷸、青腳鷸、林鷸、像會動的瓷器擺件一樣的雉尾水雉，以及像霓虹燈泡一樣閃亮的小綠蜂虎。成羣的須燕鷗在黃昏的空氣中起伏，就像緩慢的呼吸。