The wind from morn till even,
Forever shepherd you across
The shining field of heaven.

　　I always envision being walked in a poplar forest.

　　The cool and soft wind is blowing onto my face and the bare branches just rattle above. I approach the nearest poplar and touch its old black knot. There is a subtil sound, like the quiet water in a lake. It's the sap, the poplar's life and spirit, running in a tranquility.

　　It is a dusk in a deep fall or more exactly an early winter. Snugly lean against the most erect and beautiful one, I look up as the last rays of the bright winter sun sparkle on the poplars. I feel comfortable and surprise that I am so easy to please. Once in a while there is cold wind, but I know together with the poplar there will not be chillness. The sun finally sinks and I sink into a dream of other seasons in the same poplar forest.

　　In the spring, when the bright sunshine filtering through the half green half yellow leaves, I am lying on the buds covered earth. When a warm breeze brings a musky smell, the leaves wave and dance. When all is still, I fell into a dormant state.

　　When it comes to summer, every thing is in its full green, and the sun is almost too warm. The best time may be the early morning. Just slow down to listen to the polar wake up and watch how the first ray of sun reach and warm the face ... the peacefulness will be great.

　　If I see a bright yellow leaf floats gently down into the mother earth's bosom, it is the autumn. A season I really favor. I enjoy the quietly falling leaves. It's peaceful, it is perfect, and the power of silence is heart-shaking.

　　Poplar, a kind of warm tree in my heart. It has no delicate shapes, it has no fair flower but it is the most attracting in my eye. It has a sense of calmness, security, a sense of confidence and composure, and a sense of courage. For me, it is the tree of life, represents the life's serenity, in a peace.

　　I know I am losing some of the quality of a poplar since the entering into the no brave no new world, so I always imagine a poplar forest, where I may recover the past me and gain back all the lost. I know I can, because I can feel it when I get there.


In a poplar's forest, which season it is, I hear they say:
The wind from morn till even,
Forever shepherd you across
The shining field of heaven.