Frost on the Eaves

The glazed eaves of the Foding Palace pierce the morning mist, and frost forms mandala patterns among the nine-tiered dougong brackets. I walk across the snow-swept traces of monk's robes on the green bricks, sandalwood incense mingling with my breath to form white smoke. A thousand golden Buddhas hang from the dome of the underground palace, the flames of the lamps in their palms rippling in the lotus caisson. The clinking of prayer wheels startles the bronze bells on the eaves, and snowflakes fall into the cracks of the Heart Sutra stele. As dusk spreads over the 84,000 steps, the silhouette of a monk striking a bell is seen lighting lamps in the Mani Hall. The winding stone path home resembles a faded string of Bodhi beads, and the footprints in the snow are verses yet to be collected.