Siwang Pavilion

1. After it rains, I walk down to the old fish pond. Duckweed floats and frogs croak. A small orchard survives and the plums are ripe, but the crabapple hasn’t woken from its long sleep. An old man leaning on a cane carries groceries. Otherwise, no one enjoys the garden. Peonies once adorned the palace; they continue to return each spring. 2. The pavilion’s been abandoned. No one tends its fish pond below. When dusk falls on the mountains, the breeze carries the smell of grasses. Gradually, the city bridge, bustling during the day, becomes silent. Storks and cranes fly in from nowhere and their cries fill the sky.