Into the Woods

My life as a ghostwriter keep me grounded on my cubicle for more than eight hours a day for the entire weekdays. In that chamber, only my mind and the fingers do the hard work and yet unable to push out the stale water out of my tired body. Precisely that on weekend, I see to it that I am geared up for the orchard to commune with nature, to rest my weary mind and to stretch out my physique in the hope of regaining its youthfulness. Wishful thinking, that is. Even then, now that my body is perspiring, my creativity is awakened by the visions I was framing along my path into the woods:


 As I wandered into the woods, a song played in my mind, "Let thy love play upon my voice and rest on my silence." (R. Tagore)


The voice seems to say, "Be still and know that I am God." (Ps. 46:10)



Then, it seems that it is morning again in my life...


My eyes are opened and beheld the wonders He has made.



So I went on, following an old trail trodden by venerable men.



Only to find myself in some quagmire...

 I bathed on the free flowing water and wondered why the city dwellers keep on nagging men to save it but then belabored in selling it.



I wandered in the clearing to be treated by a scene of some fowl laying eggs in the thickets...


 On and on, I journeyed inner to find the ripening rambutan--a produce of my unremembered efforts years ago of planting fruit trees in this part of my wife's property.



There are those saplings competing for the sun...

 ...while the rice are privileged to enjoy it all day long.


 I wandered in the woods on weekends and contemplated on your beauty, ever ancient and yet so new.

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