The Mist

The mist hovers along the crags
of the ridge top,
Shapeless, slowly drifting, changing, minute-by-minute,
Momentarily, it obscures what is hiding behind.

Shifting clouds in an empty sky,
like thoughts just passing by.
The Zen Master comments:
“You don’t have to
                  invite them in for tea!”

The truth of our True Nature
is revealed by a penetrating insight,
Beyond mists of thought & thinking,
To That which is unsullied, ‘Presente!’

I spy beyond the mists, peering intently:
There are wet trees, gliding buzzards,
falling leaves catching sideways sunshine,
and  the river rages loudly below.

Sunlight dances off moist mountain air,  
Making little rainbows,
Everywhere!