Lotus Seed Poem: 20

Winter is the master of mime.
Who else but the snow
Can make masks
That fit everything so perfectly?
To see the Master at work
You’ll have to slow down
To the speed of sap
Moving through a maple tree.
Then you’ll taste the sugar of stillness
Dripping into your bucket of silence.
Once you tap that source
You’ll know the roots of your life
Are always ready to dance
No matter how cold or dark it is.