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.
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.
Inspiration: reading Chuang Tzu on a Spring morning in a garden.
The early morning mist moves in slowly
as the sun rises.
Snow Egrets fill the sky in flocks,
a few fly alone flapping their wings with vigor.
A pale blue sky lets itself be seen in patches,
the mist turning a peach color around them.
I look up and feel the coolness of the air.
I smile as tears form in my eyes.
I dive into the immensity of it all,
loneliness and silence merging effortlessly.
The vast sky brightens. A few clouds from last night’s rain remain, taking deep hues of red then slowly whitening.
Several flocks of swallows fill the sky in waves moving east towards the lake for the day. They are so close above my head that I can hear the swoosh of the air.
I feel a slight chill and go back inside. I wrap myself in a soft earth colored pashmina.
A flower quietly withers on the kitchen table.
Autumn has arrived.