The egret stands on stiff, still legs. By contrast, its neck is coiled into a sinuous strike position. For a long time, only its eyes move, saccading in time with the darting prey below the water's mirrored surface. The egret plays shrub, hoping to lure tiny fish into its shadow, within striking distance of its flexible neck. the egret stands, moving only its eyes... then spears water
A falling leaf is my teacher. It craves nothing. It fears nothing. It surrenders itself, but does not submit. It will not be hemmed in for long, for its patience is infinite.
the glint in the eye
makes it look round and lustrous,
though it’s a moth wing
The columns of the forest lift the vaulted canopy. I walk down below on the trail that parts understory. Each step through the loam brings me home to barefoot days of yore. When I thought nothing of placing skin to the forest floor -- while letting the woods become me as I grew into it; I would yield my identity. To nature, I'd submit. And in a walk, I did become everything and nothing, falling into a peace at once humbling and stunning.
Struggling to wiggle its wings, the butterfly warms in the morning sun. Is it like sleep paralysis - that hypnopompic impulse to flee that's stymied by stuck muscles? What's a wind gust or rapidly advancing shadow like for the butterfly? Normally, such occurrences would provoke an erratic fluttering away. But now the screaming instinct to wing away can't be answered. Does the butterfly know dread, or does it just quietly await the moment it's unfrozen? cool morning - a butterfly twitches, but can't yet fly
Rubble cubes lie like piled dice. Temples and throne halls collapsed into mossy blocks brought low by the meager -- if inexorable -- forces of water drips and grass roots, roots that became wedges, splitting stone from stone. People push the blocks back together in homage to ancestors, but turn one's back and the hungry jungle consumes. Those ancestors crafted such sturdy stuff out of stout stone blocks. How much more quickly will our planned obsolescent cities be swallowed? stout stone blocks - toppled, dissolved, buried - a city swallowed
Beside a pond, a tree reaches, its branches stretched wide and skyward, blocking the harsh cloud-penetrating rays. Locals sit on the lush grass, their backsides wet, their backs resting on the rough and slanting trunk. They watch ripples echo outward from the mouth tips of feeding fish, those concentric rings etched into in the mirrored waters - and yet moving. In time, watchers will become ripple mesmerized, and will experience the stiff twitch and head nods of an impending nap. sitting pondside, ripples from feeding fish lull my mind
Tiger Riding for Beginners 