The Gong

Gong....... Gong...... Gong.......

The clouds and flowers painted on the sidewalk in welcome just a few short weeks ago are now dirty and faded.

A young monks futilely sweeps aside the dirt while his brother monks recite their text in pursuit of memorization a pursuit that will last for many years to come with understanding the final destiny. No more learning.

Several hawks circle overhead silhouetted against a pale blue sky which is dotted by a few puffy white clouds. The trill of the hawks, the caw of the crows, the chirping of the many birds that make their home in the two giant coconut palms and the scratching of the sweepers broom, all in unison with the many voices reciting versus from sacred text.

All as it has been, all as it will be long after I am gone.

In the distance the lonely gong sounds gong....... gong...... gong.....

Bilbo