Let us toast to songs with no easily identifiable hook that doesn't announce itself but just plod, so gently, steadfastly along meandering, negotiating easily between parts where the voice falls and the guitar/violin/drum so readily picks up
Let us write love letters to songs we can listen to a few hundred times over and still be touched by every single time
I lean my head slowly to the side, reflect on the camellia on the moss
of the temple, reflect on a cup of tea, while outside the wind is rustling
the foliage, the forward rush of life is crystallised in a brilliant jewel
of a moment that knows neither plans nor future, human destiny is rescued
from the pale succession of days, glows with light at last and, surpassing
time, warms my tranquil heart.