After the simmering anger of my last post, it was nice to step out into the release of an afternoon storm and take this simple photo of a flower in my backyard.

I stood with rain splattering on my scalp and water seeping into my crocs… and I didn’t care, and it was perfect.

My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;
Every year the green ivy grows longer.
No news of the affairs of men,
Only the occasional song of a woodcutter.
The sun shines and I mend my robe;
When the moon comes out I read Buddhist poems.
I have nothing to report to my friends.
If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after
so many things.

–Ryokan