Bush-whacking

It wasn’t the long ago... that the trees felled in the woods of

change were lit by fires set within...
For within those very trees lies the spring rain,
Basho’s morning glories,
and the whisper of a never ending landscape.

Who will it be? and why wouldn’t it?

What is this?

In the wisdom of a child; the foundation of things left undone-
of morning calls from sleep-escaping moon glows, 
the passive nature of solid ground,
and the supporting beams of astral longevity.

I wouldn’t call from this place were the place not calling for me

There wouldn’t be a call for me, were I not willing to bushwhack my own call -- thorns and all.

Amen

Phillipe of Ostergaard