When I stepped out of the tent, the crescent moon that had hung so crisply last night had already retreated with the stars, leaving only a few playful ones still frolicking in the vast blue sky, forgetting to go home. During the night, water droplets kept falling on the tent roof. Half asleep, I thought it was rain, but when I walked onto the meadow, I realized it was the heavy dew clinging to the canopy, accumulating enough weight to drip down along the creases. Outside the tent, everything was covered with crystal-clear, round, and light dewdrops, as cold as the mountain spring that had been murmuring all night.
On the grass not far away, occasional birds fluttered and chirped freely. Apart from the birdsong and the gurgling stream, the whole mountain was silent. Though it was summer, the night temperature was surprisingly low, much like early spring in my hometown. So, as I stepped out of the tent and looked at the serene mountains and rivers in the hazy morning light, and the silent village still asleep, I recalled many chilly early spring mornings from my childhood, when my grandmother, after finishing her chores, would take me to sit at the doorstep, waiting for the sun to shine on the old threshold.
I grabbed my camera and walked up the winding dirt path behind me leading to the mountaintop, heading for Taipingshan Temple. By the roadside, a hydrangea bush held many tiny dewdrops, swaying in the deep shadows, waiting for the coming sunrise. Before I even turned the last big bend, I saw a light red ball emerge from the hazy chaos beyond the easternmost ridge. It rose so quickly that by the time I changed lenses, it had already bounced fully into the air, moving farther from the ridge. I crouched by the roadside, next to the hydrangea that had waited all night, its branches holding two kinds of flowers, silently following the red ball's ascent with my eyes and thoughts. When I came to my senses, I excitedly ran back to the campsite to wake my family and led them to watch this unparalleled sunrise in the wilderness.
Clouds in the western sky lingered on the distant ridge, motionless. The night sky had been clear, without a single cloud; they had been lying on the mountaintops, lazily leaning against the peaks, sleeping soundly. Long after sunrise, they reluctantly rose from the peaks and the villages halfway up the mountain, drifting into the pure blue sky. The warm sunlight finally touched our campsite. A cup of hot coffee wasn't enough to dispel the chill that had accumulated overnight; only this gradually intense warmth fully revived us.
Sitting outside the canopy, the gentle and warm light poured endlessly onto the meadow. We were the sole witnesses, watching the mountains, rivers, and lazy clouds awaken one by one, turning the view into a celestial melody, etching this unforgettable morning deep into memory. At that moment, a bowl of steaming hot congee would have been perfect—one sip would warm the whole body, bringing immense comfort.
As the sun rose higher, clouds began to roam across the vast sky overhead, and their shadows raced across the meadow, group after group, patch after patch. They must have slept well last night, for they were full of energy during the day, running wild for hundreds of miles, seemingly tireless. They clung to the crest of the ridge, changing shapes with a whoosh, as if about to fly away from the meadow, only to circle back from afar with another whoosh.
When we descended the mountain, a flock of sheep was walking under a huge cloud shadow, leisurely grazing as they moved toward the alpine meadow where we had camped yesterday. The little girl from Gumu La village, whom we met yesterday, sat on a still-damp grassy slope, watching the sheep and listening to music. Today she was herding alone, without companions. Not far away, two of the three from yesterday's grandmother and grandchildren had also come. They would spend another dull day on this lush alpine meadow. In a few hours, they would tread the familiar sunset, drive the familiar sheep back to the familiar village, and rest in the quiet night, illuminated by the bright moon and stars.
