A moment

I want to dissolve into the wood of this ancient temple, to be such a true green made in a monk’s bowl and applied lovingly, with such devotion

It would be enough for me, just to be a spot of pure color in the midst of all the fine details, a background for everything else to shine against

Pigment dense within the grain, a saturated, living coolness pleasing to the eye, beckoning contemplation

The very shade of a certain kind of calm, alert and relaxed, filled with an undeniable vitality yet soft and yielding

Like fresh rice shoots in an early morning field against a crane’s legs that patiently awaits the subtle rustling of a frog.