Philosophical Fridays

 

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Photo Credit — Danny James

                        Clambering up the Cold Mountain path,
                        The Cold Mountain trail goes on and on:
                         The long gorge choked with scree and boulders,
                         The wide creek, the mist-blurred grass.
                         The moss is slippery, though there’s been no rain.
                         The pine sings, but there’s no wind.
                         Who can leap the world’s ties
                         And sit with me among the white clouds.

 

 

Han-Shan

Early Morning on Cape Cod Beach

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Photo Credit — Danny James

 

On the Beach

 

At dawn, bare footed, viewing as far as eyes can reach,
the water’s edge advances and recedes along the beach.

Before me I see a carpet of half-buried shells of sea-creatures,
tide washed and rippled in sodden sand along the beach.

I move, exploring, sodden sand oozing between my toes,
beyond me the wavelets breaking on the sand along the beach.

Behind me, my wandering trail is blurred and indistinct,
as the water’s edge advances and recedes along the beach.

At mid-day, on the soft dry sand behind the water’s edge,
undressed worshippers lie in the sun that beats down along the beach.

At night, the moon’s reflection at the water’s edge
resembles sea serpents playing in the wavelets along the beach.

Michael Williams