English translation (AI-generated)

After rain in the mountains, there is a newborn coolness —
not the cold of winter,
but a faint, mint-like chill
that turns the air moist and transparent.
The scent of rock, of pine needles, of earth
rises slowly with the wind and the sun in the gorge.

Walking through the mist
is like walking into a dream not yet awake.
Nature’s ink-wash, like an invisible hand,
gently wipes away the outlines of ridge and grass and tree,
until, in a moment, only a faint wash of ink remains between heaven and earth,
and a thread of hazy fragrance.

12 June 2026, in Los Angeles

山岭的雨后，有一种新生的凉。
不是冬天的冷
而是许许薄荷的凉意，
让空气变得湿润而透明。
岩石，松针，以及泥土的气息，
随着峡谷里的风与太阳缓缓升起

走在雾里，
像是走进一场尚未醒来的梦
自然的水墨像一只无形的手，
轻轻抹去了山脊和草木的轮廓
不一会儿天地间只剩下淡淡的墨色
和一缕朦胧的清香

2026年6月12日于洛杉矶