That was when a silver haze lazily embraced a paling Moon. Gently sitting under a wide taro leaf, a red fox found a shade from the passing rain. It was late deep in a summer night, when a strayed butterfly caught the red fox gazed into the rent sky. There was a long gap of silence between the two strangers, before in all of a sudden the red fox threw a question. "Which one gives more impression... a haiku written by a heartbroken monk or a painting of a blank night?" The shocked butterfly answered not, for there was a deep silence behind every song. And there is. ----the Red Fox and a Strayed Butterfly Before a Passing Rain
Posted on: Sat, 20 Jul 2013 17:55:06 +0000
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