A bird flies over a white field. And the bird sees in the trees of those on the horizon, the breath of the universe. The prince flies through the forest, flies among the trees. And the bird meets the fly, which cries:
- It's time, it's time!
Spring time has come.
The bird waved its wings, the south wind blew and summer came. Time for growth and procreation. Everyone is busy. And only a beetle in this bustle heard the voice of a bird:
- Emptiness is the beginning of all things.
Having reached the goal, the bird rose high, high, to where thoughts are born.
- It's time, it's time!
Spring time has come.
The bird waved its wings, the south wind blew and summer came. Time for growth and procreation. Everyone is busy. And only a beetle in this bustle heard the voice of a bird:
- Emptiness is the beginning of all things.
Having reached the goal, the bird rose high, high, to where thoughts are born.
