1 September 2015

A young male nightingale settled in between the fragrant branches of the blossoming nectarine.  He was not going to stop singing till finds his female match.  She wasn't in a hurry to come and join him.  She was still choosing.
Ah, that noise of expectation and excitement was really bothersome and cooking the patience of the old monk.  His hand was getting more and more wobbly with irritation from the awakening of the world outside of his monk's cell.
He was an old man, with plenty of wisdom to spare.  He has crossed many rivers and he knew to be angry at the run of nature was just in vain.  It was time to join the life outside.
He stood up slowly, shook off and stretched down the old robe – now threadbare and ashen.
It was time to take his old bones out on the backyard and soak up some sun warmth and cheer the spring as the eager young male nightingale was doing just next to his window.

That smell of blossom just made his ageing heart skip a bit…
Who knew he could still spring in his steps!

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