One of my favorite gifts in life came in a box and was from John Evans of Lemuria Bookstore. Possibly, I’d sent him some rare gems I knew he valued; I cannot recall exactly what prompted his sending it. I do recall it was soon after selling my bookstore, and I also recall that the box was filled with his favorite books for the mind and soul.

Though I’ve read and finished several, many still wait for me. On John’s advice, I decided to read one of them daily and enjoy each morning as a way to start my day. It is Mountain Home: The Wilderness Poetry of Ancient China (published by New Directions). Selected and translated by David Hinton, the book explains the rivers-and-mountains tradition of Chinese poetry through the works of nineteen poets spanning from the 5th century through the 13th century. What has struck me most about the poems thus far is how they remind me that the experience of living is—or should be—an integrated part of the natural world around us. Reading one is for me an act of being quiet, being still, being thoughtful and being present. Finishing one offers a wonderful moment of feeling awake and aware as opposed to consumed by what there is to do and worry about. I thought I would begin sharing my favorites with you on occasion. I hope you enjoy them.

Wandering at Oblique Creek
By T’ao Ch’ien (365-427)

This new year makes it fifty suddenly
gone. Thinking of life’s steady return

to rest cuts deep, driving me to spend
all morning wandering. Skies clear,

air’s breath fresh, I sit with friends
beside this stream flowing far away.

Striped bream weave gentle currents;
calling gulls drift above idle valleys.

Eyes roaming distant waters, I find
ridge above ridge: it’s nothing like

majestic nine-fold immortality peaks,
but to reverent eyes it’s incomparable.

Taking the winejar, I pour a round,
and we start offering brimful toasts:

who knows where today might lead
or if all this will ever come true again.

After a few cups, my heart’s far away,
and I forget thousand-year sorrows:

ranging to the limit of this morning’s
joy, it isn’t tomorrow I’m looking for.