Wandering over miles of sky;
The song of the height of the day;
Thoughts graze on distance.
There are many paths here, many views.
One can but choose this single moment
Where the next step may fall.
The old sages would place their huts
In quiet groves next to some riverbank,
Letting the world sing them to sleep.
Idly doing the will of heaven,
Showing the way by staying still.
Breathing as forests and mountains,
Babies full and swaddled in beauty.
Restless we wander, honking like geese,
Like sparrows in the eaves,
squabbling over straw.
Tears for the moon –
waxing and waning.
The best we can ever do:
To care for small things
And to learn
a deeper kindness.
—
simonhlilly 