The end of autumn- there’s heavy frost and dew;
At dawn, I rise and go to the hidden valley.
Yellow leaves cover the stream and bridge,
In the empty village, just ancient trees.
Cold flowers are scattered, each alone,
The hidden stream breaks off, and reappears.
My own heart’s plans are long forgotten now,
What can it be that startles the deer? Liu Zongyuan
Chinese Brush Painting…Watercolour on Arches Paper