Saturday, April 08, 2006
Staying Overnight at Xiaosha Stream
Trees, laced in mountain mist,
patch broken clouds;
the wind scatters a rainstorm of fragrant petals.
The green willows, it is said, are without feeling-
why then do they try so hard to touch the traveller
with their catkins?
Tr. Jonathan Chaves
I'm finding these zen poems quite soothing and peaceful, but I don't know what the hell they mean.
But sometimes it seems quite appropriate just to sit and read them.
They make a pleasant diversion inbetween painting commissons and stitching little owl pinnies for gracia & louise