Hello my friend, if
you come to me in winter time
I will bring you near the outlet of an ancient pond
where the sun never shines
We will see the wind-driven ripples superimposed on
the current from the inlet to the outlet
break the thin ice apart into pieces
and make them jingle
That is the music I want to share
On a calmer day, however,
the ice was solid
you barely saw the ripples
much less the water flow
The pond looked still
as calm, as senile, as an old monk’s face
Who knew the old monk was composing and
rehearsing in the quiet place
in stillness there was a song
20230101
