A blue heron flies from the edge of Lost Creek,
A grouse lays another egg on the pile in the woods.
Acorns send their radicals underground,
Bagworms spin their tents in the chokecherries.
Sitting quietly, poised in our natural state,
We relax and are filled with profound serenity.
The neutral stillness of the mind will be filled
Only if at first it is emptied. Some call this The Way.
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