A tree that has lived for centuries
does not know where the branches of its body will reach.
Nor does a river flow for thousands of years
know where its waters will open a path, or to what place they will finally run.
Where the branches extend,
where the waterways are born—
these things do not truly matter.
What matters is that green rises on every branch,
that blossoms break into full bloom,
that wherever the waters arrive, life begins to stir.
It is the distant landscape, held and shaped
by the tree and the river, that is beautiful.
Nor do I know how I myself will stretch outward,
or to what place I shall arrive.
so, I will not rush to foresee the landscape they may someday shape.
