The Zen of Monsoons…
On a hot summer afternoon
I play hide and seek with squirrels.
Spotting one long-tailed fellow
on the lowest branch
of a functionless Ashoka,
I purr and snap my fingers
in a silly response to his restless squeak.
And in one brief moment,
he stares me in the eye,
scurries down the tree,
leaps across the manicured lawn
and fades from my view.
And in that one brief moment
The sun bears down a little less
And I feel my worries disappear
somewhere far away.
an imperious monsoon burst
petering down into a steady drizzle,
And I am filled with a kind of gratitude
that is wordless and indescribable.
I dip my fingers into watery leaves
feel the drops bounce off my shirt,
stick my tongue out
and smell the fragrance
of a land, regenerated.
Perfection, ecstasy, tranquility,
Pure unadulterated bliss,
A Zen moment,
Call it what you will,
It is all that and more.
And in that moment,
an involuntary whisper,
to my chagrin, stutters,
“Where are the squirrels?”