December 28th, 2018

Leaning on my staff,
I watch the sky clearing after snow;
clouds are layered high
over the mountain stream.

As the woodcutter
returns to his hut,
a cold sun sets
on perilous peaks.

A farmer's fire
burns the grass along a ridge;
wisps of cook smoke rise
in rock-girt pines.

Returning to the temple
along the mountain road,

I hear the striking of the evening bell.

Chia Tao (779-843)