A lone crow walking in the park
（続き）
An empty children's park.
A single crow was walking.
It was walking amongst the play equipment, which I have never seen children playing on, occasionally stopping to look here and there.
I don't think of them when they are flying, but watching them walk reminds me of Zen Buddhist monks. In the early mornings of winter, I used to watch the monks walk past, chanting something, before I went to primary school.
Barefoot and wearing Zouri (strow sandals).
I understood the severity of the ascetic practices.
The crow would occasionally look up at the sky and stare at the clouds.
I had the feeling that there were sutras there that only the crow could see. Of course, they were not the words of the Buddha.
Perhaps because of the uncomfortable feeling of eye floater, I was tempted to think that the clouds were marked by the resentment of numerous mosquitoes.
There seemed to be a whole sky full of connections of letters that I could neither see nor read.
I, too, wanted to raise my voice to the clouds and spread my wings.
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