how strange, in summer, under skies robin-egg-blue to feel winter's hand
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dreams are made of mist: in reaching out to catch them I fan them away
heady floral breeze cicadas singing "vween vween" heralds of summer
I don't really know what to write and that, itself, is not so much a problem only the shade of a problem. The problem is thinking "I don't know what to write" and then not writing - only thinking about not writing and not, actually, writing. Oh dear - what a muddle of … Continue reading Shade of a problem
When Jiahao is caught between duty to his family and duty to his country, a chance encounter with a monk helps him find his way.