Part of the Series of Oriental Brush Paintings…
Ink and Watercolour on Rice Paper.
The northern mountain is blanked in cloud;
for one who hides away, it’s pleasing — perfect.
So that we could visit each other, I’ve tried to climb high;
my heart follows along, like a wild goose, to exhaustion.
It’s the hour to see village people returning;
they walk on the sand, rest at the ferry landing.
At the edge of the sky, the trees look like grass;
Near the river bank is an islet shaped like the moon.
How welcome if you met me with some wine!
We’d share, intoxicated together through the autumn festival.
The years that pass
Have brought with them
Autumn has come
And the trees stand
Bare and cold.
I ask the yellow leavers:
“Are you too, sad?
What griefs have you
Are sere and old?