Spring morning

Several flocks of ducks flew over the house this morning, going north to their summer dwellings.

I thought of counting them. There must have been more than 200 birds in each flock.

And then I came to my senses.

Why this need to count? To appropriate something by putting it into a category or a number? Why compare or count?

Let the birds fly north! Enjoy them as they are!

And most importantly, take in the beauty of their ways in silence just as they leave no traces in the sky.

Kenza.

Inspirations: Spring, morning sky and birds. 

Just as the sun

 

Just as the sun starts to light up the sky, flocks of birds fly over the house.

White snow egrets with gold reflected on their wings, ducks in almost perfect formations and swallows moving in waves.

Closer to me, a few hummingbirds buzz around the lavender; while, despite the coolness of the air, bees start their morning collection around the same flowers.

These are the sights I am privileged to, and every dawn I give thanks for the beauty.

This morning, from way way up, a white egret pooped. As simple as that, and it landed a few centimeters from my foot.

I took it as a blessing both for its ordinary nature and … for having missed me.

I smiled and the smile remained with me for the entire day.

Who would have thought? Life brings us joy in so many forms!

Kenza.

The birds

At dawn, a pigeon delivered a most important letter. The King had appointed me head of the aviary.

After the midday heat abated, I went to the palace to take my new office. The King gave me a special robe of celestial bleu and the golden key to the aviary.

As dark clouds gathered in the late afternoon, I walked to the aviary. With the golden key, I opened the cages and all the birds flew out.

Tonight, I sit alone smiling inside a cage. The King was rather displeased you see, and the golden key does not work on the lock.

Kenza.

Not a trace

A flock of birds flies north.
Two tired bees buzz near the blooming lavender.
A cloud, mindless.
The last ray spreads its gold.
The birds leave not a trace in the sky.

Kenza.


Note: “Mindless cloud”: In Zen poetry as well as in classical Chinese poetry, the cloud is often a metaphor for the mind –floating, shifting, insubstantial.