An Old Friend on Chang'an Road, Blanketed in Snow

Snow always falls in silence. Fresh snow, old mountains and rivers, familiar faces unchanged.

Some head south, some return north. One horse, a white robe, a blade, a passage from a sutra.

No one said goodbye. Everyone knew they would never meet again.

And so the snow kept falling, the mountains and rivers remained, but the old faces were nowhere to be found.