Buddhist Temple In The Mountains

My journey began in spring when my heart prayed for salvation. I decided to enter the Buddhist Temple where Li Cheng lives a pure life. All summer I trudged wet roads, leaving villages and memories behind. By autumn I reached the foot hills and labored upward as colored leaves swirled down. Breathless, I looked up and saw peak against peak against peak and the narrow road disappearing into mist and snow. Now, at the beginning of winter, I have reached Li Cheng's Temple. Barren winds have stripped the trees. Green trees have become thorn trees. They are skeletons clinging to dead rock, their branches are the shattered bones. The Temple rises, in its dark beauty, from a nearby summit. A stone slab marks the memory of my friend. I cry with the ten thousand things.