What you seek will remain elusive until your search is ended. The quarry rests once there is no longer pursuit. Why are you still running?
The mystery of contentment can not be unraveled through more activity. The evergreen goes nowhere, yet it moves with the wind.
When was the last time you sat beneath such a tree and listened to its whisperings? There is a voice there if you have ears to hear.
But be wary of making it another end. You are here. That is enough. Open your heart to the answer that is no answer at all.
The wind blows. You are still. The needles rustle. You are listening.
The question remains.
You have ceased your pursuit. Captured by the subtle lullaby, your back resting against the bark, you drift into sleep.
Safe, seeking warmth, the fawn steps from the shadows to curl by your side.
Slow Mover 