Posted in Poetry

meadow at dawn

The first ray of light from heaven dispels
The gray silence of night lost with lusters
With pale hues of the sun in the soft sweetness
Lingering in a lake of shimmering waters.

Iris unfolds the wondrous seven colors
Weaved into an arch of dreams and hopes
Always new and fresh in never-ending grace
That fills with pleasure the hearts of beholders.

Aurora releases dewdrops from crystal buds
Made of moonbeams, stardusts, and starlights
Kept from a visiting moon and traveling stars
Washing the faces of earth with heavenly pearls.

Posted in Poetry

the castle east of the sun west of the moon

She sits under the shades of willow
Where she came from, no one cares
The castle East of the Sun West of the Moon.

Then the leaves of the tree whisper to her ears
“Ride on the wings of the Four Winds therefrom
The Castle East of the Sun West of the Moon.”

She speaks in the language of the wind, Aeolian
And calls for the Four Winds to carry her home
The Castle East of the Sun the West of the Moon.

First East wind comes, she rides on his wings anon,
West Wind, South Wind, and to North Wind reaching
The Castle East of the Sun West of the Moon.

Ere the Sun goes west and the Moon comes east
Or she will never get to her beloved home
The Castle East of the Sun West of the Moon.

Posted in Miscellany

from this corner of the world

A beautiful field of flowers on a background of mountains and clouds

It was a great leap from northern New Jersey to southern California when I decided to relocate two years ago. At that time, I felt like a pioneer girl from Willa Cather’s novel or a Horace Greeley in his Overland Journey from New York to San Francisco. Now the not-so-long time has passed, and I still have the job I got first in California, but I am now not sure about being rooted here like a tree without luscious fruits, which is just one of many plain, common trees whose sudden absence will not be conspicuous. Amid in this existential tides of life, willful, fateful, or both perhaps, reading today’s article from the New York Times about a declining trend of relocation after the ease of Pandemic-related restrictions statewide seems to shake my already shaking ship adrift between Scylla and Charybdis.

The article reports that now that the post-Covid 19 has dawned a new era of remote-controlled employment, many people do not need to move to another state for their new jobs unless they are packaged with satisfying relocation fees. And staying put in their home grounds while working remotely for their bosses across the Rocky mountain or on the other side of the coast fortifies a sense of close-knit family and community that they feel strongly related and belonging by staying put in their home grounds. Further, the article illustrates a particular fragment of well-to-do middle-class people with professional careers or executive positions who indeed don’t have to take trouble moving their already content families to new locations. Finally, the article excludes the peripheral class that orbits around the lesser bright solar system whose life spans depend on a dominant sun’s brilliance.

People are still moving to and from for their uncertain futures, as I have witnessed so far, despite the Pandemic scare less than the existential threats of daily life. Hasn’t the journalist seen enough of the genuine fabrics of life by getting on a morning bus carrying a crowd of the middlings and underlings heading for their workplaces? Isn’t The New York Times proud of being one of the most liberal newspapers in the world? Or is it for most liberal middle-class only?

I still like to think of myself as a frontier woman in the Still Wild West, living with an elderly mother and an eleven-month-old tabby cat with chronically weak respiratory and digestive systems in a make-shift house on a pitiful homestead often besieged by the lawless and the uncultured. And I still don’t know my decision to move from here to there was a fool’s wish, acting on a foolhardy impulse neverendingly. Nevertheless, I want that all that wise sayings about hope and courage are truth and nothing but the truth, and I am sure that many people share similar kinds of wishes in the courses of their lives that today’s article excludes.

Posted in Poetry

Draw the Moon

The sky is howling in the twilight

As the chariot of the moon flies;

She hears her fate that she wants not

Thru the rustling leaves and grass

Swaying in the wind of the chariot

And draws the moon from the seat

To take back her unwanted future.