Cold Mountain

This was quickly conjured with a stranger's pastels and a scrap piece of charcoal paper on a spring night whilst sitting in the dirt. I thought it a fitting piece to welcome the name-change after 8 years of...

This poem is it:

I settled at Cold Mountain long ago,
Already it seems like years and years.
Freely drifting, I prowl the woods and streams
And linger watching things themselves.
Men don't get this far into the mountains,
White clouds gather and billow.
This grass does for a mattress,
The blue sky makes a great quilt.
Happy with a stone underhead
Let heaven and earth go about their changes.