The Drizzles that Taste Like Crusts

It’s early spring in New York. I ran in Central Park this morning. A light rain blew in my face. As I savored the rain’s delicate texture, an ancient poem came to mind:

“The drizzles were as moist as crusts. From afar, the grasses seemed to bloom. Looking closer, I realized the lawns were still barren…” (Early Spring by Han Yu, 768–824)

In Chinese characters:

“天街小雨润如酥， 草色遥看近却无。” (早春呈水部张十八员外，韩愈)

The poem is a snapshot of the streets of Xian, the capital of the Tang dynasty, in early spring.

1,200 years later, I experienced a similar scene in New York.

Judging by the volume of water on the ground, I knew it had been raining overnight. Spring rain often arrives unannounced while we sleep. Another Chinese poet from the same period celebrated such phenomenon:

“Good rain knows that spring is the best season to grace Earth. It stalks the wind at night, nurturing life discreetly. … By dawn, the flowers are drenched with dew. They will blossom all over the city by tomorrow.” (Rain on a Spring Night by Du Fu, 712–770)

In Chinese characters:

“好雨知时节， 当春乃发生。 晓看红湿处， 花重锦官城。” （春夜喜雨，杜甫）

Just as good rain nurtures life quietly, so do good people.