trudging and snapping twigs,
a branch whips with velocity at his face;
a brushed line of trees lines the river;
runoff at a rate of speed unknown
mossy rocks and swirling rapids
whirling thoughts and hummingbirds hanging
hands lent to the righteous path
its for cleansing, a divine bath
nightfall's coming light the lantern
crickets chirping around us
and nothing but the rushing sound of river soothes us!
sunrises sent for warming these hearts..
with spiritual garb they enter in deep thoughful prayer
they look majestic and mystical, are they even really with us?
their days are so simple
so well chartered and carefully crafted
a community bound by their love for Him
jokes are played on one another, no differently than us
minds are stoked by books and constant writing
looking inward and enriched by the enclosure
pure as pure can be, he faces the stone chapel
he lives here and cannot imagine it any other way
such is the mind and the life of the monk
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