Into the misty air

Upon the lake so calm and wide,

An elder walks with steady stride.

His robes flow light, a breath, a breeze,

As ripples dance beneath his knees.

The dawnlight weaves a golden thread,

Upon the waves his feet have tread.

Yet not a drop disturbs his way,

For thought and self have slipped away.

No fear, no doubt, no weight of years,

No echoes of the world's old fears.

He walks as if the earth is near,

Though water holds him, crystal-clear.

A heron bows, a willow sways,

The wind hums soft its hymns of praise.

The master's steps are light, yet deep,

As time itself forgets to keep.

The village watches, hushed in awe,

A sight beyond the mind’s own law.

No trick of craft, no clever art,

Just one who walks with empty heart.

Upon the shore, he turns once more,

A smile like waves upon the shore.

Then fades into the misty air,

As if he was not truly there.

Yet in the ripples, whispers stay,

A lesson left upon the bay.

That he who walks with boundless trust,

May find the earth in all he must.