Enchanting Dance with the Wind – Yellow Mountain Pines on a Journey to Huangshan

The pines of Yellow Mountain, oh,

The clouds and mists of Yellow Mountain, oh,

Are torn by the wind into countless strands.

The rushing wind whistles past,

Bringing a foretaste of autumn.

Wave after wave of clouds and mists,

Sweep over the green figures on the cliffs.

Wind rises, clouds surge,

Waves roll like a tumultuous tide,

Mightily engulfing the peaks,

Transforming into a thousand rays of dawn upon the pine needles.

Wind calms, waves subside,

The peaks sway like small boats in the sea.

Swaying, swaying,

Swaying out a sea of green,

Veiled in hues of vastness.

Swaying, swaying,

The sturdy pines in the wind,

Like sails defiant against the gale,

Tug the boats straight toward the heavens.

The wind howls, the pines roar,

Cleaving the clouds to reveal streaks of sky.

The clouds race, the mists burn,

Forcing the iron-hard Yellow Mountain

To burn with the allure of a maiden.

Your excitement, my smile,

Turn into timeless ink-wash moods.

Captured is only the splendor of Yellow Mountain,

But not its endless transformations,

Nor the wind, the clouds, the mists, the pines –

The perfect tableau they compose

Still haunts my soul to this day.