Nothing Wasted

Quarry Brook flows past

me sitting on a bank

right into the Atlantic Ocean

as I rub the dogs belly.

 

Brook Trout and a muskrat swim by.

Spotted Sandpiper. Tail bobbing.

Rising falling breeze. Hush of green

leaves filtering noonday sun.

 

Nothing is wasted in this perfect movement.

I tell myself not to measure or write it.

Know it. Remember it. That’s all.

 

But of course, I’ve gone and written it down.

 

 

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This Morning

 

7:00 a.m. eyes open

look toward the night table.

 

The Way of Zen by Alan Watts is there.

An old influence

rediscovered on a shelf in my son’s room.

Under Watts, a yellow, dog-eared Tao Te Ching.

 

My first thought of the day was clear and lingered

but now it’s late and long gone.