One Thought, a Mortal Life · Above and Below, All Connected · 73 / 102
· A Preference
Restless, with nothing to lean on, I chew the hair-tip of my brush; tangled with threads. The lake's lovely colors go on without end, and from between my brows the knotted mood loosens and opens.
Glosses—
restless with nothing to lean on: the vexation of a mood that has nothing to rest upon;
hair-tip (máo yǐng): in ancient times brushes were made from hare's hair and came to a fine point, or yǐng, hence the name.
*This piece is an original work. If you repost it, please credit the original author Shixi Lin; any infringement, once discovered, will be pursued to the full extent of the law. In addition, the accompanying illustration comes from the internet and belongs to its original artist, Hehewu.