A Single Spring (by Han Shan)

Today I translated this poem by Han Shan, the hermit-poet of Cold Mountain.  It's the last line of this poem that takes my breath away.  How many years lie within a single spring?  This for me captures the essence of early spring - a time filled by infinite possibility -- when all of life is crammed into a handful of days as the worms first begin turning the soil.

My home is spare

And well hidden

Dwelling far from

The earth's clamor

I tread on the grass

To make three paths

And gaze upon the clouds

Who are my nearest neighbors

The birds join me in song

There's no else to discuss

Any matters of Dharma

Each day bears the fruit

Of Karma's great tree

How many years I wonder 

Lie within a single spring