Some time ago, the number of days escapes me, I began with a small idea. A single seed carefully selected from a bowl of seeds, germinated and planted into soil which was expressly chosen from all available soils. And like any good grower, chose from the tools to tender the life as it developed, selecting the best tools for each stage of this life. It becomes of utmost necessity to know these seeds, these soils, these tools, and these learned and studied skills. A novice plants many in hopes for one to grow, a master tends to one for all of the skill and effort to be realized in. This is love. This is no time to improvise or make-do, the grower knows that a master has failed more times than a novice has tried. It is not by accident that this thing of beauty should appear effortless, it is by countless and tireless hours of skill and effort.
This seed, this planted idea, this book I craft from germination, "The Life of Trees" is nearing finish. Almost to its end desired state of effortless completion.
Rain from the top cloud.
Sunshine softly and faultless.
Bonsai grants me poise.
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