From one thousand mountains, birds have vanished.
Over ten-thousand paths, not one footprint.
A lone boat, an old man in coarse cloak and hat:
Just he, fishing in the cold, river snow.
Original Chinese:
千山鳥飛絕
萬徑人蹤滅
孤舟蓑笠翁
獨釣寒江雪
grape tendrils encased in crystalline frost. blows into cupped palms.
early autumn morn:
fog forms over the river
‘cause the water ‘s “warm.”
cold water pounds on back & shoulders: some nerves numb; some fire wildly.
my breath mingles with a bright white moon, on a cold winter night.
From a stove-heated room, the snow brightens one's mind with hope that all will be made clean, but cleanliness is next to nothingness and nothingness is next to loneliness. From inside, snow is silencing and light. It's fine and shifts like sand in desert dunes. It's silent like the depths of a cabin at midnight on the prairie before time. From outside, snow saps all of one's resolve, and makes one wish to flee the purity it pretends to generate all around. The cold, it bites like a full-body vice. The feet go numb, but brains... they fire wildly -- they shake one awake, but dare one to sleep.
a cold, rainy day, but the green grass thrives -- well-watered / air fresh
the day is cold, but the sun is out, and the water sparkles
winter: stone sculpture of snuggled infant & mother; my bones grow cold
breath billows in the cold, evening air -- a child amused
Tiger Riding for Beginners 