Convalescing

People brought me wine because I hurt myself when I was drunk. The last I remember was at the duke’s party. I believe that I sang a song of bravery and felt young and strong again, then I’m not sure what I did. I remember swinging a golden sword and riding into the clouds on a powerful horse whose hooves slipped on the stone ledge above the Qutang gorge. I plunged down eight thousand feet and I felt that nothing could harm me. As I fell, fortresses and cities passed before my eyes. Calvarys pursued me but their swords and arrows were futile. Everyone was impressed that an old man with such white hair could ride and shoot arrows so beautifully. So it’s hard to understand what I’m doing in bed with my body bruised, my cane broken. Thank you for trying to cheer me up, but wine numbs the pain for only a night.