The water of the valley stream is always flowing.
It races on, not pausing for even an instant.
Its sound,
to me,
is the sound of time.

by Shundo Aoyama,
Zen Seeds - Reflections of a Female Priest

I

Owl, ever the reader,
was lost in his book
as Coyoté quietly approached.

Coyoté sat behind the creosote bush, waiting.
Owl muttered.

Coyoté watched from behind the creosote bush.
Owl read more, then peered into the stream,
and muttered.

Coyoté sat behind the creosote bush, waiting.
Owl muttered, "Time! What is time?"

Coyoté waited behind the creosote bush, watching.
Owl peered into the stream, and muttered, "What sound!?!"

Coyoté watched from behind the creosote bush.
Then he tossed a pebble in the stream, "kerplunk."

Owl jumped, paused, stared.
Coyoté waited behind the creosote bush, watching.

Then he said, "Nuts!"
Loud.

Owl muttered.
Turned.
Stared.

Coyoté said, "Kerplunk."
Then darted away
as Owl flew
into a rage.

Coyoté just said, "Nuts!"
And kept running.