Morning in the mountains, with clouds and mist.
I rise, feeling rather weary. After a while, I leave the house with a bamboo staff and walk among the bamboo in the green mountains. The stalks echo one another, their verdant color reaching the sky. When the mist rises, I sit outside my house and sip a little tea. It's a delightful pastime. Drinking tea and admiring the scenery can while away hours. I suddenly recall a line: "White tea, quiet joy, nothing else to do."
Later, back in the mundane world, someone asks, "What is there to do in the mountains?"
I reply, "What is there to do in the mountains? Brew wine from pine blossoms and steep tea in spring water."
