June 04^th, 2019

After begging food all day
I return home,
shut the rough wood door,
and burn leaves and twigs
in the hearth,
quietly chanting Han-shan's poems.
Night, the rainy west wind blows,
rustling the thatched roof.
Meanwhile, I stretch out my legs
and lie down,
pondering what should I think about,
what should I doubt?