In the early morning,
the world is still.
A gust of wind shakes a leaf,
and the gathered dewdrops rain on the ladybird
hiding in the shade.
The crows exchange their daily greetings
as they tear into the rotting flesh of a rabbit.
By the field of flowers,
a newly-hatched butterfly flies from daisy to daisy,
anxious to live, to taste, to touch
before its week of life runs out.
The world is still as ever,
and the day would age and depart as it always did–