Friday, October 19, 2012

fall in the cotton fields


“Unsettled, a bird lost from the flock --
Keeps flying by itself in the dusk.
Back and forth, it has no resting place,
Night after night, more anguished its cries.
Its shrill sound yearns for the pure and distant --
Coming from afar, how anxiously it flutters!

It chances to find a pine tree growing all apart;
Folding its wings, it has come home at last.
In the gusty wind there is no dense growth;
This canopy alone does not decay.
Having found a perch to roost on,
In a thousand years it will not depart.” 
― T'ao Ch'ien

1 comment:

  1. Several years ago when I moved to North Carolina, during the Fall, I had the driver (ex) stop the car. We were next to a cotton field, freshly picked, and I noticed pieces of white stuff being blown around along the curb. I popped out and grabbed a handful. Holy Molasses, it was fresh grown cotton and guess what, it felt just like the cotton balls you buy at the Drug Store. Surprised the heck out of me.

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