Peach Blossom Spring
Bed and Breakfast

"My home? I'm stopping near the town,
stopping in a peaceful way, free and easy.
My sitting stops with the shade of tall trees,
my strolling stops inside the brushwood gate."
  – Yuan-ming, from "Stopping Wine"










We rush out to the side terrace to rake the golden leaves;
they are rich and supple born by a wet a autumn;
a snow had come and then preserved them like a treasure;
quickly, quickly! I say to my daughter, always in a rush;
neighbors walk by in something that stands for peace;
a dog or two behind them on leashes as they wag and bark.
I look up to our wise yellow house and see it reflects beauty.
It is of the same colors as the beauty of autumn,
wet in places but resilient against the coming of winter.
I pull the rake into me and come to love the grass underneath,
the leaf piles like little mounds of memory and I want
to take hold of each and dive down into the hidden spot,
and listen to my daughter sing again and hear her smile.
I have grown old and a bit too brittle to enjoy the clouds pass.
By tomorrow my heart will burn with the fires of compassion.
Lost last year off the tree and let it seep to soil and seed.