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Entering the garden and what comes into view first, but a flower. A flower? Of course, it’s a pretty garden filled with equally pretty flowers. Looking more closely, entering further in, what catches the eye? Is it the roman stone bench, inconspicuous under the young Korean fir.
A sound next, notice how it echoes off the high built rock walls. How long has this wall ensconced that bench in solitude. How long will the echo ring between walls and ears before it fades to wherever it is that echoes go?
There she is, and she is sleeping. Who is she?
And why is she sleeping here? What gives her the right? Who said, ‘You, rest here; rest very easy here, sleep.’ ? Not I; not me. I’ll none of it.
Her sound drowns the, no, is the source reflecting echo.
No. I don’t like this. I liked this place this garden, but I don’t like this. I liked the stone bench, cool and still. I liked the big baby tree, too young to be forbidding in company.
But her, her I do not like. Her with her easy rest, and oddly soft body, like the lion, but more appealing without golden fur. Her sleep annoys me, because I want her to explain herself. Why she is here, why she is sleeping in midday, why she is noisy, why she is at all living… Why she is irritating me.!.
Why she is..? Beautiful.