plum blossoms leap on to spring branches
the greenest of grass strains toward the cloudless blue sky
the voices of playing children float on the gentle breeze
everything old is new again.
Offered here are some pen scratchings from a ScurrilousMonk. Ordained Soto Zen priest,a disreputable beggar, lost from the fold, homeless, and storm tossed in the wilds of Samsara. A travel essay, from this long strange journey that vanishes in an instant, and is gone in a flash.
