My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;
Every year the green ivy grows longer.
No news of the affairs of men,
Only the occasional song of a woodcutter.
The sun shines and I mend my robe;
When the moon comes out I read Buddhist poems.
I have nothing to report, my friends.
If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after
so many things.
Lately, I've been going for late evening walks into the local wood, hoping to see a tawny owl. I haven't been successful yet but I'll keep trying. I've also been trying to find a place to rent but also haven't been successful. I'll keep trying.
One day I'll have my own place and will let the ivy grow too. But will also check Facebook a little too often.