it is Spring
and we walk here now
on the solitary mountain path;
on the branches that were bare but yesterday
are new leaves, fresh and unfurling;
and a few sprigs scattered about
on the shoulders of the path

the rocks are shaped and weathered;
Nature’s thumbs and fingers
have pressed the earth the way its Dao flows
There is a bird on a bare branch
and another sings its song, hovering in the cool air

And we, we two -
now walking on this path in Spring –
though we strive, and though we aspire
we too are but living beings
Nature will fold and discard, after use
gently or as it wishes
after use