I dyed the years with red maple我用红枫染流年

I wish to borrow a red maple leaf, to soften the edges of time, to paint the sunset deeper red. I raise a cup of aged, potent wine-a toast to the past, so mercilessly borrowed away, and to the weary silhouette burdened with fatigue. Then, catching a wisp of cool breeze, I board that one-way train with no return journey.

Along the way, I'll admire the blossoming flowers and beautiful vistas, retrieve from the river of time that forgotten piece of fluorite, and pick up that maple leaf blown down by the passing years. I'll smooth out the luggage wrinkled by the gentle wind, pack it with the autumn breeze and clouds, and then, alone, I'll trudge into the distance.

I go in search of the moon-that childhood moon, forgotten in the water-and the sun, the bashful one, hiding somewhere where no one knows.