Between the high grey residential block <br />and the busy, noisy Japanese street <br />there’s a small park: three tall trees <br />in a broad bed of grey slate chips; <br /> <br />this autumn afternoon, the trees <br />have shed their golden-yellow leaves <br />over the grey ground; the gardener <br />has carefully brushed them with his wooden broom <br />off the chips, and into tidy golden rings <br />around the bases of the trees; <br /> <br />as if the leaves were gathered in some joyful ceremony <br />of gratitude, respect, and friendship; not farewell, <br />but time dissolved into a circled beauty; <br /> <br />the passers-by note this timeless act of worship; <br />share this with the others as they pass, <br />politely glancing towards strangers; <br />meeting, respectfully, not their eyes, <br />but, as leaves to trees, their heart.<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-measured-beauty-the-japanese-mind/
