The meadow breathes
Rippling grasses are dotted with pale petals
that are really butterflies
who knew?
Deer nibble in silence, faces disguised by grass masks,
flicking their tails
Mosquitoes nip and buzz around like maddening children
“not touching, can’t get mad. not
touching, can’t get mad”
Meadow edge, a presence unlike any other turns his head,
hushed
the meadow slips into focus, all senses sharp like obsidian
tip
this being humbly commands all hearts to beat in muffled
rhythm
a song of awe, of tranquil
not-being
Juncos chide him with their metallic “tcht”, bouncing like
grasshoppers
No passing noise can shift his serene state, no disturbance
pains him
acceptance
take in, let go, move on
Perched upright on a branch, this regal yet modest zen
master sees more
than we see in an entire lifetime
What can we learn from him?
 |
| Great Gray Owl in Yosemite National Park. Photo by Christopher Mccreedy, 2012. I was standing right next to him, jaw-dropped as he clicked away. Thanks Chris! |
