Dogs come back to lie on the porch and pant,
That deep beautiful color in the woods
We can't describe and call it dusk.
The events of the day have unsteadied us,
The mind is born to struggles and distresses,
We read in the woods for comfort
The ancient thoughts of the solitary.
If the wind should blow, it blows,
If you want to know about your life,
Study the withering rose.
Even without hearts and minds,
plants fall with the passing days,
Seeing just how this is so, wrote
Dogen, we feel a little ashamed.
copyright 2010 J. O'Brien, all rights reserved
