April 25^th, 2025

My mind is inclined to quiet;
Outside of things,
I lodge in the brush.
The sense of the mountains is best
When you reach their depths;
The source of the valley stream, distant,
Is naturally purified.
For the rest of my life,
All that’s missing is death;
All thoughts and worries
Are settled already.
Recluses should leave no tracks;
People stop asking their names.

Wen-siang (1210-1280)