Feeding the Hydra ls Plentiful

It is a windy day in Wenchang, reminiscent of autumn days on the east coast of ol' U.S.A. I feel the chill of witches in the air as the wind howls and whistles, noting the changes of the season. The tree leaves crash into eachother sounding like violent waves at the seashore. Tree branches shudder and bounce as ships do at sea during stormy weather. I stay late in bed, reading trashy novels by Chinese women and dream about other worlds from this.
I realize that being in China can be strangely romantic. I feel like a shipwrecked American, marooned in a backwards land where they often play bad pop music and throw trash where ever that feel like it. In learning traditional Chinese painting, I am finding great pleasure in the way a few graceful strokes of the brush, plants and animals come alive. My teacher speaks a string of Chinese I don't understand, so I must observe carefully, her skillful hands and fingers as they may quick and confident movements that stymie the imagination.
I long for some type of romance. Cute couples in love with one another surround me in every which direction. Of course I already have a lot to adjust to, but it would be nice to date.