First days of spring -- the sky is bright blue, the sun huge and warm. Everything's turning green. Carrying my monk's bowl, I walk to the village to beg for my daily meal. The children spot me at the temple gate and happily crowd around, dragging to my arms till I stop. I put my bowl on a white rock, hang my bag on a branch. First we braid grasses and play tug-of-war, then we take turns singing and keeping a kick-ball in the air: I kick the ball and they sing, they kick and I sing. Time is forgotten, the hours fly. People passing by point at me and laugh: "Why are you acting like such a fool?" I nod my head and don't answer. I could say something, but why? Do you want to know what's in my heart? From the beginning of time: just this! just this!