Here where I’ve come to perch, are many deep and
mysterious places men seldom speak of.
No wind, and yet the vines sway; no mist, but the
bamboo groves seem somehow always dusky.
Who is it that the stream sobs for, or for whom do the mountain’s
clouds stand suddenly like pennants at attention?
At noon, when I meditate inside my tent,
I find the sun on my horizon.
– Han Shan