Along with summer’s drum, we produce occasional thundershowers, wet and dry messages:
We are not shy, We are so proud –
We can make a wound in a pine tree and it bleeds sap, and courts us, in spite of the setting sun’s shadow,
They bend and serve so graciously, whether dead or alive.
We love our pines and rocks;
They are not covered with the superstitious setting-sun chemical manure of this and that.
We are so proud of the sky that we produce on our horizon.
Our stars twinkle and wink as if they know us,
We have no problem of recognition.
Our rocks and pinetrees speak for us.
Poem by Chogyam Trungpa. Published in Earth Prayers. Source unknown.