Saturday, February 07, 2009

Sitting amidst frost on the crest of a little hill
Rising sun behind me shines white trim on the tan building across the way
And throws a shadow before me: Line of the hill,
My sillouette on the line in a pose thousands of years old

An hour past

Four friends wrote me
Two children laughed with me
One bed warmed me

In this moment

Four birds call four songs, singing the morning
Two people come and go, living the morning
One distant highway, folks rolling through the morning

Joy takes me

I feel I'm with Shakyamuni, with Jesus, with all living things

Peace to all and all be well.

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