Very late, the thin smile of the waning moon rises, but isn't there long before the dark sky begins to glow with deep blue. By then, Orion is past meridian. Three months from now, this time of morning will find him sinking into the pine woods to the west, and winter will be here. Those nights, the wind will cut and bite, and will bring no conceit of rustling skirts to mind. It is early autumn's wind that blows delightful fancies, while the night air is yet deliciously cool, not cold, and shivers are more apt to be a pleasure than a sign of discomfort. This has been the first night of autumn wind this year. I hope for many more.
Sunday is here again. I wasn't expecting it so soon. I feel as though a day or two were missing from the last week. I must pay closer attention.
Sunday Verse
Country House
by Ch'u Ch'uang I
I planted a hundred acres of mulberry trees
And thirty acres of rice.
Now I have plenty of silk and grain,
And can afford to entertain my friends.
In the Spring I plant rice.
In the Autumn I gather chrysanthemums
And perfume the wine with their petals.
My wife enjoys being hospitable.
My children like to help serve.
Late afternoon, we give a picnic
At the back of the overgrown garden
In the shade of the elms and willows.
My friends drink until they are inspired.
The fresh breezes cool the heat of the day.
After everyone has gone home,
I walk out under the Milky Way,
And look up at the countless stars
That watch me from heaven.
I still have plenty of jugs in the cellar.
Nobody will prevent me
From opening some more tomorrow.
