Early a.m, and the magic will start , ever so slightly at first.
That certain gold that drips from God’s never-ending palette.
Down from the tops of the elms, and oaks,
it comes, unaware of its own spectacular beauty.
Diamonds lit from within , dappled light transformed.
Glittering down , in a never-ending spectacular kaleidoscope ,
infinite in its choices of fractals.
I am struck by the feeling that the golden drops have their own secrets,
and whisper them only to the leaves, who raise their veined bodies to hear it all.
Devotees’ to the words the sunlight speaks.
Never spoken to outsiders,
but passed from one to another ,
on the sacred parchment of their own greenery.
Komorebi , 木漏れ日,