February Dusk

Day sinks into night; the dusk is chill. 
Against the chill the walker wears a coat and scarf
And is warm.
Against the silence of the twilight and the cold
He strides quickly, could be said to lope.
His dog, having already pooped and sniffed,
Trots beside.
The walker does not think that he is striding,
Or watch the day sink deeper into night, but rather
Lets his thoughts range over topics widely,
And idly.
Striding, thinking, he is unaware that he is happy
And that in him is the stillness of the Tao.


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