Softly fades the mark of man's hands on the stone. 

Breaking through and making roots. 

"Fred don't! You will only start a fight, just ignore him". 

Tales from the river bank in autumn. 

The rolling wave of the changing season passes across the wood. 

Like ghosts out of history, frosted by time's passing. 

Lost in the view, we sometimes do not see the awaiting fall. 

When reality and faith meet, enlightenment sheds it's magical light. 

In a world of reflections, we sometimes wander lost. 

Reflections on the pathway. 

Control of the tides of nature by man. 

Where idols once stood. 

Against the backdrop of man's religious folly, nature seeks the true light. 

While the hand of man falls, nature rebuilds. 

Slowly nature takes back her own. 

In the glories to creation we build, blind alley ways and dead ends are all that are left. 

The light of the universe floods the darkness of man's creations. 

Like chess pieces awaiting the next move in a game played between man and god. 

Bridging the space over still running water, the hands of many men's work still standing while stones to man's ego fall. 

Returning visits bring new views,slowly changing by seasons. 

The light fell and the fallen traveller saw the path light up before him. 

In the hidden shadows, the temple watches the reflected clouds in the ponds. 

To wait, to serve, to contemplate. 

Daring to break free from the crowd. 

open roofed and still standing proud