trees on the mountain
so many leaves, come and go
summer is ending
*
where am i?
how did i get here? how long?
who’s counting
Just standing. Just looking. This morning, I read a poem written by a T’ang poet who called himself T’ai-Shang Ying-Che (The Ancient Recluse). Here, he replies to someone who was asking him why, and how long he had been living in Chungnan Mountains.
Somehow, I ended up beneath pines…sleeping in comfort on boulders…there aren’t any calendars in the mountains…winter ends but who counts the years
