“Unsettled, a bird lost from the flock --
Keeps flying by itself in the dusk.Back and forth, it has no resting place,
Night after night, more anguished its cries.
Its shrill sound yearns for the pure and distant --
Coming from afar, how anxiously it flutters!
It chances to find a pine tree growing all apart;
Folding its wings, it has come home at last.
In the gusty wind there is no dense growth;
This canopy alone does not decay.
Having found a perch to roost on,
In a thousand years it will not depart.”
― T'ao Ch'ien
Several years ago when I moved to North Carolina, during the Fall, I had the driver (ex) stop the car. We were next to a cotton field, freshly picked, and I noticed pieces of white stuff being blown around along the curb. I popped out and grabbed a handful. Holy Molasses, it was fresh grown cotton and guess what, it felt just like the cotton balls you buy at the Drug Store. Surprised the heck out of me.
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