With each rain that comes, the plants and trees bear their happy adversity, making constant meaning from madness.
They do not stop to wallow in the swamp of their existence. They keep growing, often sacrificing their bodies for others.
There is no exasperation at the reckless imposition stabbed by man, only continual growth in spite of sabotage.
We are still the lonely hunters, destroying the homes of attachment-driven creatures grasping at their existence.
Tightly.
Shall we, instead, unfurl our leaves and enjoy the difficulties samsaric existence brings – in order to evade its illusive attack so that we may escape – at least the worries!
Growing wiser, effortlessly, as the plants, the trees.
The Halfwit Writer 