What moves

The shoulders of the mountain were uncovered

Olive green lay lichen and moss

like a transparent silk cloth

on the rocky outcrop and

shimmered emerald,

framed by the deep blue,

on this midsummer morning.

My soul soared like an eagle with

wings spread over rugged formations,

over snoozing heights and shady places.

Like an aging diva, the mountain stretched out

itself and reflected the sun's prism

down to its forest-covered thighs;

clothed in the foliage of mature woods

perfumed by herbs and blossoms.

Tranquillity wove its cloak,

warm and light it wrapped around

the sunken thoughts.

Blackbirds and bluebirds sang

the mantra, its echo jumped

from rock to rock until the sky

greedily swallowed it up.

What the eyes did not see

What no ear heard

Therefore, noble soul

Escape the delusion

It is not one thing and

It is not the other

But it is something

That which moves

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