The early morning fog
lays mist upon the trees
and the mist turns into
drops of water
that fall upon my head
as I walk along the path
I often take
to greet the morning.


This is a transformation
so easily understood —
just as a boiling kettle
turns water into steam.


But what of me —
the one who takes a walk
and hopes a transformation
will occur within?


It often happens —
though it is subtle
and can’t be easily described.


But if I fail to keep this discipline
of checking out my little world
I ‘d weigh more than now
but I’d be less a man.

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