Mid morning

Mid morning —
The bird wobbles across the garden.
He picks a twig, lets it go.
He goes towards a fallen bougainvillea flower, turns away.
He flies onto a branch, sings a few notes.

Mankind —
We seem to always have a place to go,
a goal to reach,
a purpose to fulfill.
Couldn’t we just be aimless?

There may be some wisdom in this somewhere.

Kenza.

—-

Inspiration: reading Chuang Tzu on a Spring morning in a garden.

This morning

This morning, as I was making the bed and as my head remained filled with  queries —those very queries I had promised myself to leave aside— a bird chirped on the high branch of the tree outside the window.

He seems to be telling me:

”Stop thinking. Come back to earth. Life is here. Beauty is here. They are in the quotidian, in the joy of this Spring morning and of my song, in the gestures you make as you flatten the sheets. So come back to earth and you shall find tranquility.”

Inspiration: just as I heard the bird, and a beautiful Spring morning here in Mexico.