Sitting quietly under the carport
in the still crispness of the morning air
listening to the sparrows chirp and play there
on the light-frost covered lawn, their day’s sport
unspoiled by this unseasonable cold,
watching the sky, made sharp and crystal clear
by the tentative sun as it appears
and bends, but does not break, the winter’s hold,
I breathe in the tendrils of warming steam
rising from my lotus flower green tea
and let the soft fragrance fill my senses
like the lingering essence of a dream;
soon the entire world fades, and seems to be
only a facade of subtle experiences.
27 JAN 2003
