September 07^th, 2015

Rainy days in the empty forest.
Smoke rises late as I steam greens
And boil millet to take to the paddies.
Above the foggy waterfields
Fly white egrets
And an oriole sings in
Dense shade of summer trees.
In the mountain I practice silence,
Contemplating morning hibiscus.
I pick hollyhock beneath a pine,
A vegetarian now,
No longer looking for position,
An old man living in the wilds;
Why should seagulls still be wary of me?