In the scenery of spring,
nothing is better, nothing worse;
The flowering branches are
of themselves, some short, some long.
- Zen anon.
The weather at last is turning mild
Swinging my staff
I set off for a spring outing
Streams burble in the valleys and gorges
Mountains and forests ring
with the trilling of birds
I may go walking with a monk
Stop at a friend's and rest a while
There's nothing like this life of mine
A boat that's slipped its moorings
bobbing on the waves.