Mountains, Forests
I really like foggy days,
The mountain then is especially beautiful.
Fog surrounds trees, and it seems that even
The air breathed into one’s lungs has an additional layer of feeling.
Each tree’s silhouette stands out from the fog, and becomes a lead role,
More poetic.
Strolling slowly in the fog,
Is like walking in a dream.
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Clouds in the mountains, melt in the wind
Turn into mist, gently
Shroud the woods and vegetation,
Take the whole mountain
And hum it into a dream.
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Night is thin, like cicada wings,
Mist will gently
Cover it.
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Nowadays
I am more willing to partner with nature.
People are a mirror,
Only when needed
Do I go and reflect in it.
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Walking in the mountains,
I hear thousands of hills and trees rushing to me,
Waving to me excitedly:
"Paint me! Paint me! Paint me!!"
"All right, all right, I paint, I paint, one by one, let’s take our time..."
In fact, all things are perfectly silent,
And it is only me walking alone in the mountain, exhilarated.
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This large cherry tree stands tall in the embrace of a mountain slope.
Around the Lunar New Year,
Colorful flowers cover the mountains and plains.
Standing under the tree, joy flows like a mountain spring.
The force and beauty of the blooming flowers make people speechless.
I paint the tree with solemn respect,
And without asking for prior consent,
Surreptitiously change the color of its flowers.
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The rain stopped,
A drop of water falling from the tree bounces
On a large taro leaf under the tree,
The leaf trembles all over,
Like someone suddenly startled out of contemplation.
Then, bird sounds come out,
Tentative, first a few pecking noises,
Hidden among the sounds of water droplets.
One needs to wait for braver birds to clear their throat,
After which, the whole forest becomes bustling again.
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Fog, is not at all
As we think so blurred, misty,
On the contrary, it makes every thing appear more clearly,
It makes us focus more attention to watch,
And reflect in its midst.
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No more relying on language,
I’d rather rely on trees,
Entrust the wind to blow my thoughts around,
Scatter them in the woods,
Like sparkles of sunlight.
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I especially like that blue of the sky after the sun has gone down,
That blue is like silk, satin, and also like the blue of ink.
When the last ray of light disappears at the edge of the leaves,
Insects and birds of the mountain suddenly stop calling.
It is still and dark all around,
Mountains and forests at this time are extremely beautiful,
And extremely mysterious.
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In times of change
One must hold on to oneself even more.
Keeping oneself serene,
Like a rock sitting at the bottom of the water,
Letting the turbulent waves flow around,
Holding on to oneself,
Holding on to one’s inner emptiness.
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In the beginning, painting helped me find relief,
Later, it allowed me to release my emotions,
And find again the satisfaction of creation.
And now, it appeases the disruptions in my life,
Steadies my disquieted heart,
I hold on to it,
Like a piece of driftwood in the hand of someone lost at sea.
I understand only now,
That painting to me,
Means more than I thought.
2008