The Zen student asked

the master,

“How do you see

so much?”

“I close my eyes.”

I sit in my easy chair

with my feet crossed

on the ottoman.

I close my eyes and

see and smell red,

white and jack pines.

I watch the trail for

hazardous, ancient roots

hidden under shiny,

slippery oak leaves.

I feel the cushion made

by seasons of pine

needles as I jog at a

slow, steady, comfortable

pace.

I see the dune ahead

and steel for the

climb knowing

that the prize of the

azure waters of Lake

Michigan

lap along the beach just

on the other

side.

I pick up the pace just a

bit and stare at the shoe

impressions made by

others in the damp,

firm sand.

I stop before returning

to the woods, rest

my hands on my knees,

catch my breath while

thinking about

the climb

back up soft sand

that gives way

under each step.

I look around.

For the moment

I am alone with

the forest, dunes,

beach, and inland

sea.

I can’t see across,

but I feel like

I can see

everything.