My mind is a complete jumble today. I can't get my thoughts in order, and I don't know where to begin writing.
Sorry, but I need to take another day off today!
The mountain was still. The path was paved with bluestone slabs that had weathered countless years of wind and rain. Their surfaces had been worn smooth as jade, yet stubborn patches of moss still clung to them, tracing lines and threads like ancient patterns embroidered along the long flight of steps. I walked slowly, planting each footstep firmly. Most of the trees beside the path were maples and ginkgoes. Their leaves were a deep red and a brilliant yellow, without a hint of decline. Instead, it was as if they were burning through all the life they had gathered over the year in one last blaze. There was no wind, yet a leaf or two would sometimes drift down, turning lazily like a weary butterfly before settling lightly on my shoulder or in a crack between the stones at my feet. Then it moved no more. The stillness was so full it seemed ready to overflow, but the mountain held it close, steeping it like aged wine whose scent alone was enough to make me feel a little drunk.
I found a stone beside the path and sat down. It was cold, and that chill seeped through my clothes and into my skin, sharpening my senses. Only then did the sounds of the mountain gradually become distinct. A bird hidden somewhere among the trees suddenly gave a crisp chirp, like a tiny pebble dropped into a deep pool of silence. An invisible ripple spread, and then the stillness returned. Somewhere in the distance, there seemed to be a spring. Its sound was so faint it came and went,