The Old Tree

There,
curled in the nest
of the old tree,
sit for awhile.

Rejoice in
buttercups
that flame
on the hills.

Let clouds come,
let clouds go.

Then suddenly,
from stillness,
fall

into the wild,
yellow flame
of your heart.

***I just wrote this at a meditation retreat in the beautiful Sussex countryside in England.

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2 thoughts on “The Old Tree

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