If there’s anything more sublime than autumn in the mountains, I haven’t experienced it yet.
On the road, as usual, when I decided to stop and meditate on the stark beauty of a view from a mountaintop. I sat with my back to a pine tree and thought about Li Po’s poem, “Zazen on Ching-t’ing Mountain”:
The birds have vanished down the sky.
Now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and I,
Until only the mountain remains.