broken bamboo tops lie in a heap on top of fibrous roots, a wind-storm smashed that bamboo grove. we find the scene exotic and a little alien; this is not our world. years and miles pass by too quickly we will learn; a jungle cataract falls from a towering cliff, its source a mystery we'll never solve. this bamboo doesn't care; it grows again beside sweet lacey ferns, a warm wind blows. we came so far and see (that's how it goes). rain drops from sudden clouds above as we drink it in, the gods are making love.