February 14th, 2016
Yuan Me (1716-1798)
Forty-nine turns to the peak
Wind and coil up toward heaven.
If you begrudge your feet some pain
You’ll miss ten thousand peaks.
Now, where I tread there is no earth:
The only summit, the torrent.
Three stops before you reach the top.
Hat and robe soaked through:
The clouds and mist.