Through barren branches
 
I glimpse the winter mountains—
 
run, my restless feet!

 
 
 

Though the north wind blows
 
and you cannot see the path,
 
your feet know the way.

 
 
 

In my eagerness
 
to reach the winter mountains,
 
my feet miss the way.

 
 
 

After All Saints’ Day,
 
a pathway to the mountains
 
calls my pilgrim feet.

 
 
 

My feet keep seeking
 
the coolness of smooth pebbles
 
in the mountain creeks.

 
 
 

An empty footbridge
 
spanning the winter streambed
 
keeps calling my feet.

 
 
 

An empty pathway
 
skirting the winter mountains
 
calls out to my feet.

 
 
 

A path before me
 
lights up with autumn color—
 
see, I skip for joy!

 
 
 

Distant spring mountains—
 
do my feet still remember
 
how to take me there?

 

 
 

On a warm spring day

the path to distant mountains

whispers to my feet.