Among the misty peaks where white clouds flow,
A quiet maiden sits where cold winds blow.
Her breath is still, her heart is free,
The mountains bow beside the sea.
A bamboo flute begins to sing,
Its silver notes take gentle wing.
They cross the clouds, they touch the pine,
Then disappear beyond the shrine.
Beside her stands a wandering soul,
His music soft, yet deep and whole.
Two melodies, like stream and rain,
Meet in the hills and rise again.
The guzheng waits beneath the sky,
While distant peaks seem drifting by.
No hurried footstep breaks the air,
Only the music resting there.
The woman closes her eyes to hear,
The flute becomes both far and near.
Her white robes move like morning snow,
While ancient mountains breathe below.
The notes become the mountain mist,
The mist becomes a silver kiss.
The sky becomes a boundless sea,
And all the world grows quietly free.
No words are needed, none remain,
The music falls like gentle rain.
Two souls beneath the endless blue
Find peace in what the silence knew.
And when the final flute notes fade,
The mountains keep the song they made.
For where the heart and nature rhyme,
The world stands still outside of time.