Flat roofed building.
Built by them for us.
Not a home for either.
The wind howls through the balcony,
Sounding like ghosts from the childhood cartoons.
Cat sits nearby.
Smelling like the perfumed cat sand from his litter-box.
The wife reluctantly wakes up,
The construction of breakfast begins.
Im on my third or fourth cup of tea.
It is still green but after this many infusions the flavor isn't there.
Work is moving at rapid rate.
I'm not used to the tempo.
Mind is spinning, trying to grasp at a liquid situation.
I expected my Zazen to reflect by being crowded with thought clouds.
It wasn't. It has been strangely peaceful.