Nothing. Emptiness. Peace.

The winds
Passing up this valley
Come from the ocean
Far away.
The blow of nature
Across the flat earth.
Twilight as I write this,
And through the window
I can see the pine tree tops
Waving hello to me again.

James Lee Jobe 

At a way station, 

returning from Drizzly Road 

to Always Dry Road:

if it should rain, it will rain; 

if the wind should blow, it blows. 

Ikkyū Sō…