I watch a web being woven
It’s a steady start to the day
The dew on the grass glistens
As I listen to the geese
Fly low over the water
On the opposite hillside
Sheep move orderly
From one field into the other
In the meditation room
There is a breeze to my shoulder
Outside a wind rustles through the leaves
Eyes moving along the horizon
From the dark of night
To the bright light of day
The trees begin as pitch, pitch-black
Gradually turning, or developing
Into a quite brilliant late summer’s green
