Double Ninth Festival

After the frost, the level of the river has dropped; we see new islands in the distance as we climb. We’re gradually less light-headed from the wine and begin to appreciate the fresh air. Even though it blows, my hat wants to stay on my head. The festival is a good excuse to drink and forget about our worries, but the world is only a fleeting dream. Everything will be different tomorrow. Chrysanthemums will be less fragrant and butterflies won’t know where to fly.