It is difficult to respond to a terrible tragedy on the scale of what is unfolding in Sichuan.  Unlike Burma, there is no hard political edge here, just awful human suffering.  So, I turn to Tu Fu (Du Fu), the poet.  In a volume of some of his poems that I keep on my desk there is a section titled "Chengdu," consisting of verses written when he lived in and around that city.  Since Chengdu is near the center of the current disaster, I thought a poem from there might be appropriate today.  There is sadness in many of Tu Fu’s poems, but I tried to find one that had a bit of uplift to it, something to focus our attention on survival and appreciation for small things:

Morning Rain

Sounding cold dawn skies, steady winds
Tatter visions of cloud over the river.
Ducks take refuge along the island.  Among
Thickets, swallows find shelter from rain.

Huang and Ch’i both refused an emperor,
Ch’ao and Yu an empire.  A cup of wine,
A thatched home – that I am here as today’s
Flawless morning passes gathers me in joy.

    Let’s hope that the people of Sichuan will soon find joy again in another morning.