Spring leaves, plants grow.
We think, but we do not know how.
The river runs, but it doesn’t know how.
The eagle flies, but doesn’t know how.
What good is it to know, but not be able to do it?
The cat sleeps while the sun crosses the firmament.
The sun sinks in a red sea.
The sky’s blood colours the clouds.
They are moving towards the horizon.
The flower blossoms. Petals falling. Next spring again. That is all there is.
Soft breezes moving the leaves on the tree, or are the leaves moving the air.
Hot air glimmers, no moving air. Still leaves, no one moves.
We are following the silent self on the hot pavement, painted by the strong summer sun.
Sharp boundaries are defined as long as the clear sun shines.
No clouds are troubling the mind as we follow our shadow.