I’m passionate about being passionate about anything worth doing (and half-ass everything else.)
PROMPT: Passionate
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I’m passionate about being passionate about anything worth doing (and half-ass everything else.)
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
Catches tigers
In red weather.
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.