A footprint in the mud,
Overflowing with water.
A monotone grey sky
Pours a calm, steady rain.

Small eyes glitter
In the hollows of a tree.
The air is cool,
But does not bite.

I lose myself
As I wander the woods,
A path less trodden,
But not by much.

I examine my thoughts,
But find nothing of note.
So I leave my head be,
To kick at the puddles.

In one such puddle,
I find a small sprig of pine,
And roll it back and forth,
Feeling the sap coat my fingers
As I continue walking
And playing with the twig.

Something profound
Washed over me, like the rain—
A feeling, a sense,
Perhaps even a smell.
But there was no thought,
No philosophy, no revelation.
Just a fullness that came
With simply being itself.