A metaphor for life

I was sitting there, outside, at the table,
Coffee cup in hand.
No I was not picking chrysanthemums.
Nor was I gazing at distant mountains.
Instead, my mind was fixated on the flow of traffic,
Raging on and on.
Somehow I think this was not what the hermit had in mind
When he lamented the clamor of horses and chariots.
Like him, my mind was unperturbed.
Because when the mind is far out
The earth--and all its rancor--is also remote.
There was a subtle breeze
And the leaves responded in kind.
A bird descended from the sky.
And in all of this, there was a metaphor for life.
What it is I do not know.
As hard as I try,
I cannot put my finger on it--anymore.