rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Drying

The storm didn't amount to much, and the day was sunny enough to dry things out. The chilly air in the storm's wake might turn a few more of the remaining handful of green leaves, but the season's brightest display of color is gone. I've been so distracted of late that I barely noticed it. Now the landscape has opened and the distance is laced by bare branches. Nights, Orion rises early and stays late. November is his best month. If I watch him long enough I might fall out of my head soon, joining the real world again. Let's hope.



Sunday Verse


On Climbing Orchid Mountain in the Autumn to Zhang


by Meng Haoran


On a northern peak among white clouds
You have found your hermitage of peace;
And now, as I climb this mountain to see you,
High with the wild geese flies my heart.
The quiet dusk might seem a little sad
If this autumn weather were not so brisk and clear;
I look down at the river bank, with homeward-bound villagers
Resting on the sand till the ferry returns;
There are trees at the horizon like a row of grasses
And against the river's rim an island like the moon
I hope that you will come and meet me, bringing a basket of wine—
And we'll celebrate together the Mountain Holiday.
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