Early in the morning

The snipe sticks out its head from the bushes;

In a while

It silently comes to the brook's bank,

Quietly stretches out its beak, hunting.

Then it retraces to the bushes. . .

All winter, along the upper stream of Ta-tu Brook,

Snipes are all about the marshes,

Resting,

Waiting for spring.

At this time only will the north-eastern wind blow southward;

Landing from the seashore,

During the ebb and flow of tides,

Marsh sandpipers keep changing locations;

They cling to each other, evading the cold current,

And live a life of resting and hunting.

Little water ducklings imitate the sandpipers,

Warming each other, caring for each other;

Also, gray egrets, and small white egrets. . .

Then, the ecology of the river's mouth,

Forms its two banks like the stretching arms of Buddha.

The islets are like whales floating

And rushing toward the sea.

All water fowl gradually assemble

On spacious, flat riverbeds,

In the coldest season,

One hundred of them, one thousand, then thousands. . .

Early in the morning

The blue sandpiper takes its solitary journey in the mist.

It stands by the breakwater,

Watching the swallows flying and sliding on the water surface.

Behind the swallows is the bushy shoal,

Under a gloomy, grey sky,

A red falcon proudly stands.

Over the shoal lies another stream.

In every empty waterway

There is the white egret, waiting.

Another shoal lies behind the stream.

Amidst the barren, brownish, dried brambles

An eagle flaps its wings,

Slowly flying out.

This is the lower stream of Ta-tu Brook,

Cities and factories crowd the banks

Railway and highway run over the riverbed,

Stream water quietly runs,

Bends into the city,

Taking out dirt,

And flows to the river where the waterfowl dwell.

Before the morning mist disappears,

The nocturnal egrets return from the night;

Swallows, one by one, fly back to the bridge mound.

The blue sandpiper carries on its solitary journey

From the south to the north shore,

Drifting along the waterway, making its dwellings;

In dawn, it stays by the breakwater,

At dusk, it stays by the breakwater,

All winter, its stays by the breakwater.

Early in the morning,

Flocks of bronze-colored sandpipers travel in groups;

They, too, stand by the breakwater,

Their eyes cautiously watching;

Their mates stay around,

Calling, guarding;

They use themselves as the center of the living territory,

Forbidding the intrusion of small swallows.

This is the upstream,

Kingfishers fly over the water

Catching small fish;

River birds dive into shallows

To eat worms.

The wide, thickly foliaged woods by the banks drop down,

Mountain birds chasing each other,

Use their voices to communicate;

They travel and play in the trees,

Their cries all over the stream valley

Dueting constantly with the stream's murmur.

Stream water runs through the space between the cliff rocks and woods;

It turns from one mountain range and drops abruptly on another range.

The bronze-colored sandpipers traveling in groups,

Appear in every section of the waterway,

Using themselves as the center of their living territory,

Crying, guarding,

Telling the world that the stream beneath the wide-leaved woods is their home.

Early in the morning,

In the dark, dense center of the timber woods,

A short, crisp, shrieking slides across the sky;

This is where the blue-grass birds reside.

In the ecological areas with mountain brooks and splashing waterfalls,

Among the spaces of the woods,

There are strange noises;

Maybe the blue-belly pheasant has just left,

Maybe a group of quail are fighting.

Before the sun sets,

They have all finished their jobs of hunting food;

Only the quiet forest is left.

Only the sky of the canyon is left,

For the wandering of the clouds,

And the falcons and crows highly swirling as companions.

Swirling, guarding

The origin of a river.

(tr. by Chang Ts'o)