March 24^th, 2026

On the single road leading to this place
I saw a footprint in the moss.
The white clouds leaned on quiet banks,
The fragrant grasses closed your idle door.
I passed the rain-fed green of pines
And followed the hills to a mountain spring.
Streams and flowers spoke to me in meditation,
I replied, and cannot think of what I said.

Liu Chang-ch’ing