Silent and still
my father stands
before our summer shelter
He is thinking a prayer
to the Holy Ones,
asking them
this day
to keep our feet
on the trail of beauty.
Filling the silence
of my father's prayer
I hear the bluebird's song.
The monk made the bamboo come alive, capturing the sounfds of the universe and bringing them into the room. Long, deep, haunting tones vibrated in my chest. The notest demanded introspection. The noise of the rain somehow accentuated the silence between each phrase, adding an inconceivable dimension to the music.