Shaolin Temple in Early Winter

Shaolin Temple in early winter, a scene of solitude The ginkgo leaves are almost gone, only three or five hanging on the branches, like old letters reluctant to be sent The black-gray eaves hang low, like an elderly person tightening a faded robe, folding sighs into the layers of fabric The ancient tree’s withered branches stretch crookedly, clawing at the sky, the cracked bark bearing witness to the passage of time