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K'ang 14

As told by Jerry M. Pickard

With the last of his herb garden picked and bundled, K’ang allowed himself to stretch, sigh, and start back toward his dwelling, his cat Mahica trailing first behind, then underfoot in the inscrutable way of cats.

“Boy, will you take these herbs and medicines below tomorrow?” A little anguished, the boy nodded. He said to K’ang, “must I, Istva?”

“I thought you liked to go to the village and visit and trade, Boy, Am I wrong?”

“Teacher, from you I look at people with different eyes, now. I know they know things, but they bang and clatter in their ways, and talk much, but say little. I become confused!”

“Listen to them, boy!” K’ang stood as tall as his bent body would allow, all his years as a grower of plants had hardened his hands into twigs and his bones into brittle things, just to be a frame for his age.

“Within them is grace, and compassion, skill, art, and knowledge. Often, though, in their ideas, they seem to think that the way to clear muddy water is to stir it, and then peer into it for answers. My way is to let it settle slowly, and do nothing. In both ways there are answers.”

[ Introduction ] [ K'ang 1 ] [ K'ang 2 ] [ K'ang 3 ] [ K'ang 4 ] [ K'ang 5 ] [ K'ang 6 ] [ K'ang 7 ][ K'ang 8 ] [ K'ang 9 ]
[ K'ang 10 ] [ K'ang 11 ] [ K'ang 12 ] [ K'ang 13 ] [ K'ang 14 ]