(Over a thousand hills, no bird’s in flight;
On myriads paths, not one foot-print in sight.
In a small lone boat straw-caped man with hat,
Alone, angling river in cold, snow white. Translated by Frank C Yue) This poem by Liu Zongyuan (773 – 819 CE) elicits a dream of this old fisherman in solitude. But his solitude in my dream is one that respires and talks with the sky and the earth. (2017)