At the edge of something, between shadow and light, between mountain and sky, between ripple and flow; the definition of form is at its most acute. Just as a form is about to 'disappear' it is at its most intense, most brilliant. The edge is not always a comfortable place to be, as to reach there its necessary to move furthest from the zone of certainty in the Self. Yet it at the edge that insight occurs, connections fuse between the unexpected and so new experience is gained. At the edge of things.
When the bell was struck
a moment of Beauty
releasing sound within as without.
I, the bell; you, the bell,
the bell neither you nor I.
Still the sound resonates unbroken
penetrating the heart
stripping away layer by layer,
emptying the vessel of itself.
In the
shadow
of the
cherry tree,
a trace
of frost?
As I
drift away
on this
slow boat,
perchance
we may meet
if only
in a dream.
Deep among the trees
Ferns dampened by birdsong,
Rising up the valley side -
Water flowing in song.
After the snow –
A washing line
Thick as a ship’s rope.
The path of foxes lingering too.
In the mountains
High among the peaks -
The sound of a bird calling out
Deepening the silence.
Silvered light
falling between
deep pools of vibrant mosses,
Across the surface
roots writhe and slither
gulping in air before diving into the soil.
Between the tree trunks
light dissolving
into deep still mirror pools,
From somewhere other - incense
& tiny birds scattered
among fallen maple leaves.
Deep in
the night
a coyote
band comes down the hill
searching,
scurrying, squabbling, always talking.
Suddenly the yip-yipping voices
rise to a frenzied crescendo,
as they
fall on fresh fear-frozen prey.
Meanwhile muted
night birds await
for pitch
black silence to resume.
Turning
over, I pull the sheets tighter.
Above
Yoshida hill
Infinite
blue sky –
Two crows
at play.
Skimming over damp moss
A tiny
yellow butterfly-
This
field of dreams!
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