a salute to Wang Wei (699-759)

The woods are even quieter
after the rain
no movement
only the dogs frisking
along the trail
that winds
through stands of oak
and twisty limbed madrones
no rustling of leaves
only the sound
of water trickling down
making a rivulet
such stillness
even my breathing threatens
to intrude
on either side
my eye is drawn
by pale green lichens
that frost the slender branches
of the pines
the chill of March
keeps me from lingering
the dogs have had their fun
time to head home