I walk in the town’s main square and look up at the deep blue sky. White and grey mingle in the clouds, immense as only tropical clouds can be.
Meanwhile people around me are busy talking and taking pictures of themselves.
A child eating sweet bread leaves a mount of crumbs. Joyous birds gather around him, then fly away as the mother starts to gesticulate.
Did anyone notice the majesty of the clouds? Did anyone notice the joy of the birds?
Enthralled by the sights of autumn, I walk unmindful of the crowd.
Spontaneously, effortlessly, no premeditation —
the original self in action.
Giving without calculating.
Smiling without expectation.
A flower blooms simply because it is a flower.
A flower calculates nothing, expects nothing.
It gives beauty whether we see it or not.
A simple flower can teach us so much, and simple is the key word.
The big talkers out there, and the warmongers, may want to bend down a little and listen.
a stalk of wild grass
nothing to grasp.
Walk under a tree after the rain.
Rain does not only come from clouds.
Look around you, there is so much to be discovered.
Rain also falls from leaves.
Marche sous un arbre après la pluie.
La pluie ne vient pas que des nuages.
Regarde autour de toi, il y a tant de chose à découvrir.
La pluie tombe aussi des feuilles.
I carry silence.
It is as light as a cloud,
it can disappear at any time.
Je porte en moi le silence.
Il est léger comme un nuage ;
à tout moment, il peut disparaître.
In the early morning, he walks down the street noticing the lonely dandelion making its way through the cobblestones.
He looks up to the sky every ten steps or so, to better feel the softness of the clouds.
He smiles to the toothless neighbor because he likes him, and because he likes to see his toothless smile!
He hums an old tune from a scratchy and dusty opera that happens to fit his mood perfectly.
There are four red doors on the right and two bleu ones on the left.
In the open market, he picks up a few apricots. He loves their aroma and that they open up with just a press from the thumbs. He will make some apricot jam later and offer a jar to the toothless neighbor.
He exchanges a few words with friendly fruit vendors.
He greets the dandelion on his way back home hoping it won’t feel too lonely, and looks up at the sky.
The rain is coming. The air is filled with its scent, the clouds are a tint grayer and birds are flying low.
The village dreamer.
It could be me.