Daily Zen

I went deep in the mountains to gather firewood.
In the mountains' depths were stream after stream.
Where a bridge had fallen,
A recumbent log was clasped,
Where the road dropped sheer,
Hanging vines were held.
By sunset companions had grown fewer,
And a mountain wind brushed my burlap robes.
A long song, my light staff over my shoulder,
I gazed into mist of wild plains and went home.

- Meng Hao-jan