Below
ancient trees
verdant
mosses flicker
a dance
between light and earth.
Silent
immobile to the eye
soft
flowing songs for the heart.
A moment of such simple Beauty
when the bell was struck
so releasing the sound within.
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.
Treading
a pilgrims' path
remaining
empty,
thus with
the mind
of one
who only walks.
A sparrow
beak full
of moss –
treasuring
aloneness
in the
everyday world.
The
retreating cloak of night
leaves
behind
an ocean
of dewdrops,
each one
a new world.
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