of the fanfare
and drama in life
is an early
morning rising
of mist on the lake.
Before ascending to
the height of the leaves
it is gone -
mixed and blended
invisibly with the air
all around.
Whisps of moisture,
our lives are subtle
and transitory - coming
and going like the
dried chaff and blades
of grass in the field,
like the icicles and snow-drifts
in the frozen soil.
Watching and
not attaching gives
us the space to see
and open to the
impermanence of the
moment. Rising,
so much is gone
before the campers
arise from their sleeping.
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