TURNING SEASONS

Turning Seasons is about wandering in late spring. Spring clothes are all made, and everything in sight is tranquil. I wander beside my shadow, alone, my heart a blend of delight and grief.

1

Turning seasons turning wildly

away, morning’s majestic calm

unfolds. Out in spring clothes,

I cross eastern fields. A few

clouds linger, sweeping mountains

clean. Gossamer mist blurs open

skies. Feeling the south wind,

young grain ripples like wings.

2

Boundless, the lake’s immaculate

skin boundless, I rinse myself

clean. The view all distance,

all distance inciting delight,

I look deep. They say if you’re

content you’re satisfied easily

enough. Raising this winecup, I

smile, taken by earth’s own joy.

3

Gazing midstream, longing for

that clear Yi River, I see sage

ancients there, taking in spring

and returning carefree in song.

What exquisite calm. I’d join

them in a moment, but nothing’s

left of their world now, only

sorrow and distance. No way back,

4

I’m home day-in day-out, taking

things easy. Herbs and flowers

grow in rows. Trees and bamboo

gather shade. My koto is tuned

clear, and a half-jar of thick

wine waits. Unable to reach that

golden age Huang and T’ang ruled,

I inhabit who I am sad and alone.