To the southern land where spring is fragrant.
Wind and strings play on a boat on the river's clear surface,
The city is full of catkins flying like light dust.
People are occupied admiring the flowers.
My idle dreams roam far,
To the southern land where autumn is clear.
For a thousand li over rivers and hills cold colors stretch far,
Deep in flowering reeds, a solitary boat is moored.
Beneath the bright moon, a flute plays in the tower.
Li Yu, "My Idle Dreams Roam Far (Gazing at the South)"
I took a small path leading
up a hill valley, finding there
a temple, its gate covered
with moss, and in front of
the door but tracks of birds;
in the room of the old monk
no one was living, and I
staring through the window
saw but a hair duster hanging
on the wall, itself covered
with dust; emptily I sighed
thinking to go, but then
turning back several times,
seeing how the mist on
the hills was flying, and then
a light rain fell as if it
were flowers falling from
the sky, making a music of
its own; away in the distance
came the cry of a monkey, and
for me the cares of the world
slipped away, and I was filled
with the beauty around me.
Li Po, "Looking For a Monk and Not Finding Him"
The weather this week has been atypical for the season. Flip-flopping between hot, stuffy afternoons and torrential rainstorms in the evenings reminds me of springtime in Hong Kong, but autumn is never far behind a mid-sky crescent moon.
