Impossible Beauty

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Cottonwood blown
Passing by my table
Rising.

Boulders
On a thousand year roll
Tumbling.

I count the rings of the green oak
In death as life
Silence.

The wind shivers the aspen
Green light plays
Against a lapis sky.

Surely if I just catch
One seed of the cottonwood stream
I shall be granted my wish?

Dark velvet forest cloaks the far hill
White rock cliff sharp in the westering sun
Impossible beauty?

Soft bed of forest floor
New life from old
There is no way to resist it.

This is the art of the real
The practice of the moment
Here nothing is left undone.

The anguish of being human
The terror of life
And yet for all this it is otherwise.

Impossible beauty?
Hidden from view
Darkened by self.

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About Jamie Nicol

Living in the forested hills of Catalonia, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Zen teacher, recovering philosopher, small-scale natural farmer. Writing just what comes.
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