Another day that's not quite ready to rain though the air smells wet, and the clouds keep everything cool despite the sun which now and then emerges and tries to toast whatever is in its path. In other words, April feels like April but a bit on the dry side. I'm sure there'll be crickets tonight and more poppy blossoms soon, but not sure that the month will bring its eponymous showers. I keep picturing the snow melting from high peaks and the noisy water tumbling through canyons, its loudness drowning out the buzzing of warm bees. The early spring snows have gone elsewhere unwelcomed, and here the deer browse meadows too soon exposed. In my backyard everything seems normal, the season perfectly evoked. As I can do nothing to change nature's course, I'll join the pretense. There'll be all summer to worry.
by the Emperor Ch'ien Wen-ti
A beautiful place is the town of Lo-yang: The big streets are full of spring light. The lads go driving out with harps in their hands: The mulberry girls go out into the fields with their baskets. Golden whips glint at the horses' flanks, Gauze sleeves brush the green boughs. Racing dawn, the carriages come home,— And the girls with their high baskets full of fruit.