What comes to mind
A rustling sound, one after another
The shrubs are not quite used to it.
In the ditch, the dead leaves flowed away sharply
Around the bend in the road
Disappearing (and so do the humans)
The plum blossom is poor, but alive
It lives to shame us.
The pine is green and black and wet
Every bone is worth believing in.
"Man must be stoic in the face
Nature's vagaries."
I put down my book and open the window
Forgetting myself as I look out over the mountains.
Translated with DeepL.com (free version)
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