A winding stream flows west, in the evening, I sit alone in a quiet pavilion. Above the cliffs, a waterfall ha…
A winding stream flows west, in the evening, I sit alone in a quiet pavilion. Above the cliffs, a waterfall hangs suspended, its silver-white cascade like a thousand feet of silk, fluttering in the wind. Its roar echoes like thunder, stirring the soul. Yet the valley remains tranquil, when the wind stills, the waters grow calm, leaving only mist curling through the air, dreamlike and ethereal.