One Thought, a Mortal Life · Stubborn and Foolish by Nature · 49 / 102
· Forgetting the Dust
Snow drives hard against eaves and steps, and with it goes—over and done—the half-glimpsed on the pillow. I look level into the hazy wilds, keep watch alone through the tangled years—ah, how many dawns. Before I ever heard it, the north wind rose, fell again, and stilled, stilled. Only now, after so long, do I gather up the heart's bent; is set to fly west.
Leaves cover the ground, cold and lonely; I wear the hours away watching my own shadow, rubbing the empty air between my fingers. Everywhere I look, the scenes of a ; laughter and play drown the sound of the strings. Light, swaying steps—the lovers we were then, pointing under the moon to a far peak. A sudden breath on the cold candle ash, and the frost-white bleaches away the last of that foolish love.
Glosses—
駃 [kuài] snow: snow that comes down with fierce force;
了 [liǎo]: to conclude, to end;
The hazy wilds: describing the blurred, boundless look of open country;
Gather up: to set in order, to rouse oneself;
The heart's bent: consciousness;
撚 [niǎn]: to rub and knead between the fingers;
寒灺 [hán xiè]: the burnt-out ash of a candle on a cold night.
*This piece is an original work. If you repost it, please credit the original author Shixi Lin; any infringement, once discovered, will be pursued for legal liability. In addition, the accompanying illustration comes from the internet and belongs to its original artist, Yichui Wuyue.