Late afternoon, touched with love

//Late afternoon, touched with love

Late afternoon, touched with love

Late, late afternoon here in the city. It’s that « moment » of day’s light sliding into night’s dark. Even as I’m writing that, as the words take form, I’m aware of day/night as convenient labels for the same « thing, » which is not a « thing » at all, but rather a constant flux impossible to hold.

The simultaneous transformations are unfathomable… As testament to a shred of it, we see the leaves, yellow, tan, brown, beige, green, some fallen, some not, still branching their fill of limbs. And hear the roar of a bus passing in the street, heading to the stop near the corner. Someone will mount, someone will descend, someone will ride on…

Meanwhile, cat’s on my lap. She and I have « advanced » in age together, imperceptibly moment to moment, yet our hearts are always touched with love right now.

Earlier, I received by email this verse of a poem by Dogen:

« But even though winter is icy cold, what warmth can compare/To one plum blossom outside, opening five petals in the snow. »

By | 2015-10-02T15:33:30+01:00 octobre 21st, 2012|Textes|2 Comments

About the Author:

Enseignante Zen et poète, Sensei Amy “Tu es cela” Hollowell est née et a grandi à Minneapolis, aux Etats-Unis. Arrivée en France en 1981 pour étudier la littérature et l’histoire, elle y est restée, s’installant à Paris, où elle élève ses deux enfants et gagne sa vie en tant que journaliste. The Zen teacher and poet Amy “Tu es cela” Hollowell Sensei was born and raised in Minneapolis, but came to France in 1981 to study literature and history and has lived in Paris ever since, raising her two children and making a living as a journalist.


  1. Tiago 26 octobre 2012 at 20 h 00 min - Reply

    Dogen’s verses echo on my ears and am tempted to say something "clever". But my words seem empty after these and can only bow.

  2. litle lake 22 octobre 2012 at 10 h 38 min - Reply

    this vulnerability? of life –
    (or how could i say this for words always seem so inadequate)
    can be so unbearable? so breathtaking? so tender?, or simple? so just ‘as they are’ ?
    as any nightfall
    … l’ heurre blue…

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