cold mountain (59)

a match was made and they wed

Consider the petiole a ring, the unfurling green a vow: spring wedding for the trees. Love is patient, love is kind; it bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all thing—how do we know the cambium doesn’t weep in fall, to lose her leaves, bearing up under passing? The darkening of heartwood, the cessation of its inner respiration, could be a quiet grieving, transmuted in endurance. To begin again in spring is not an ignorance of fall. If I were a tree, it would be the fullest love to extend myself in life again, knowing what I stood to lose.

 

Cold Mountain is back. I left my copy in Korea, thinking I’d have access to the on-line copy at Google books. But Google books only allows browsing up to page 75 or so, meaning I’ve lacked access. Fortunately, now I have a library card and the library has a copy of Cold Mountain. I’ll resume writing out the Chinese of the poems in a week or so.

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