Banyan Lake Teahouse, GuilinLight raindrops drop, shimmering on Banyan Lake. Twenty years, we’re here again. Only a small addition to the banyan’s eight hundred years but now my beard is gray. Guo Mo-rou’s calligraphy is still above South Gate although attrition has taken its toll on the ideals he cherished. The old stone wall, the rich greenery pouring over it. Someone starts playing a zheng and the notes are like raindrops on the water, gently landing and spreading in small circles. Encompassed in the seasons’ comings and goings we still care for each other through all the ups and downs and raft on the floating days. A weeping willow on the opposite shore reaches down past the rocks almost to the water. Next to it a yang willow is reflected in the water. A pomegranate with a few red flowers also shimmers in the cloud drifting sky filled lake. The days and their reflections go by on the flowing water.