Cool water in a small teacup on a hot day.
Trees swaying and leaves rustling in the wind.
Sound of cicadas in a mid-summer garden.
Waft of wisteria on the breeze under a pergola.
Velvety petals of lamb’s ear along the path.
It descends like a soft cloud
Encasing me in comfort.
What is this strange feeling?
I cannot catch it.
It slips through my fingers if I try.
But when I sense it,
I can turn my face to it
And bask in its warmth.
And then see it on its way
With a silent word of thanks.
I hope to see you again soon, happiness.
Thanks for passing through my life.
You need to visit more often.
“Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.” ~ Dalai Lama
The words call to one another,
Threatening others to stay away,
Beckoning others to draw near—
Dances of territorial and mating displays.
The words create and destroy.
They are always there in the background,
Whether I acknowledge them or not.
Like the chatter of birds
As we go about our day.
We rarely hear them.
“One who binds himself to a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity’s sunrise.” ~ William Blake (1757-1827), Eternity