May Moorland
by Roy K Austin
(Dorset England)
I love the moor in May covered with lavender and ling, the strewn boulders that hide an unimaginable power, that tiny, violet flower sheltered by favourite stone ; a blue - tit sky, with spots of rain that rust the bowl of the odd robin and above it all, the lark and the sun, drinking in the dark ; I listen where I walk to little streams, that talk of what they fetch and carry, collate the sounds, that they might marry at the altar of my ear, baptise my eyes and close them ; light sparkles on bits of old ruin, that splintered wainscot in the wilt of time and still, that old green bottle grappling with nature's silt, my Zen - like thoughts follow the water through a bottomless bucket that had served someone well, and who could tell if I embark with an argosy on my little ship of dreams !
Something breathes - softens the focus of my eyes, and all seems one and infinitely wise.
From Towards Atman http://www.zalivanda.com/id3.html
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