There are two ‘stories’ about small corroborate sites that I have come across since I arrived to the Bogong Alpine Area. One was found in the photocopied information, filed at the local history society. Another was told by the lady at the local general store. The former is sourced from the academic text in geography, and the latter is based on what she heard in her childhood. Neither of them come with any historical evidences, and this is why I call them ‘stories’. Yet, what we know as ‘history’ of any place is not really the truth either. History is constantly transformed, through being interrupted and distorted by those who would enter a place of others. Here I am, too, entering into these sites (Image_1 & Image_2), as led by these stories as well as the transferring atmosphere of the spring. I wonder that what I listen to in silence and what I see in shadow would never be translatable, except into a poetic work. My work here has just began, hence, the sound and the image are still further away from me. But I am hoping (more like praying) to be a little closer to them as gently as possible so that the beauty may be falling, like how the bogong moth would descend to this alpine area after all snow falling and trees falling.