Crossing the mountain

How have I managed for seven years without being attached to this country? It might help to go on another Zen retreat. I must have moved here in a dream or when I was drunk. How else could I have gotten here? Cold water of the stream washes my feet; a gray fog hides the mountains; a green mist drips from my clothes. We interrupt a flock of pheasants, suddenly erupting from the bushes and scattering leaves from the rocks.