It has taken me months -- five! -- to develop the film in my nondigital camera. These are the kids, decked out in traditional Tibetan finery, no doubt well aware they are a photo-op and will possibly get tips and goodies from tourists as they reach the outskirt of "Shangri-la" [so named in the past year by the Chinese tourist & geographical authorities.] They are darling children! The photo was taken, literally less than one minute before I tried to jump up to them and give them some sticky-stars, slipped, fell and displaced/broke my hip. This is a an important picture to me, the last real moment of that vacation.
This being poetry month, I have another picture taken earlier that day part way up into the mountains -- "Shangri-La" is at 14,000 feet -- when we stopped at Tiger Leaping Gorge, the clouds made wonderful patterns. I have a somewhat unusual Mary Oliver poem for today:
THE OLD POETS OR CHINA
Wherever I am, the world comes after me.
It offers me its busyness. It does not beleive
that I do not want it. Now I understand
why the old poets of China went so far and high
into the mountains, then crept into the pale mist.
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