The censers of October are filled with the scents of refining pills. Dyed the woody plants into the color of harvest, the golden wind forgot the blossoms. Temple of Sweet Dew, stands among these empty hills. The setting sunsets were chasing after the jade clouds’ bottoms. When the Buddha is half awaked, flowers in the court, gently smiled. The drunken moonlights on the cliff, laid the travelers’ beliefs. Northern sceneries were hidden in the meanwhile, away for miles. Only in the autumn of Western Beijing, regardless of the spring, I lost myself.
