Taiyi stretches toward heaven;
Linked mountains reach into the sea.
Looking back, white clouds coalesce;
In the mist, the mist can't be seen.
A ridge is a boundary of worlds:
Cloudy or clear; with - or sans - tree.
In need of lodging for the night,
I ask the woodsman cross river from me.
This is poem #118 of the 300 Tang Poems [唐诗三百首.] The original in Simplified Chinese is:
太乙近天都， 连山接海隅。
白云回望合， 青霭入看无。
分野中峰变， 阴晴众壑殊。
欲投人处宿， 隔水问樵夫。
For over a decade now, I’ve lived with two seasons: dry and monsoon. I’d have to give the edge to dry, but the hot bit of the dry season has its own challenges.
Where there are four seasons, I tend to favor those in the Goldilocks Zone (not too hot & not too cold — i.e. Spring & Fall.)
All that being said, as a matter of philosophy, I try my best to avoid having favorites.
after harvest
cows stubble graze, &
egrets hunt in the wake.
cloud ceiling,
almost touched atop a hill,
parts in the distance.
I turned to speak to God
About the world’s despair;
But to make bad matters worse
I found God wasn’t there.
God turned to speak to me
(Don’t anybody laugh)
God found I wasn’t there—
At least not over half.
What’s the one luxury you can’t live without?
Luxuries, by definition, can be done without.
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