Standing there in the morning cold. I thought to make something of the day. No thoughts of age or death. Or the storm-wind that sometimes comes. So, I bought some flowers and flirted with the streets. Shifting to another place, and another time. The story of a sunset glow. And a love that washed over a canopy of heaven.
The spring rains, drifting slowly from the Hangzhou clouds. Each drop, new memories for my old age. The coolness, the temple gate. And the drenched birds around. All for a man like me.
Without the cold and bleakness of those Manchester days. There are no traveller’s steps and leisurely trips. That tell you that summer has come. And the dreams of liberation have just begun.
Two leaves hang from a tree. But this is not a dead zone. Nor is it a dread zone. Words and chicken burgers. Send savory smoke skyward. Breaking the glass ceiling. As if it was all our yesterday’s.
When lonely people come around, I say hello. At least it stops the world spinning. Everything can be seen through dandelion dreams. And it allows us all to ask certain questions about life and things. Without thunderclaps at midnight.
I crossed a bridge in Hangzhou today. Leaving my old self behind. Between now and now. A rare delicious road. One curious soul meets another. Two world’s connect. All because I crossed a bridge in Hangzhou today.
A cloudy day in Hangzhou. But still the cherry blossom season. The scent already in the air. From the morning love you gave to me. Like a moist early spring. This is a loving.
I passed the first day of spring. And then the second. It was such a sound. Learning tap-dancing softly. The pitter patter or rising hope. Sending winter on its way.
A Wandering Poet 