Wednesday, May 13, 2009


From Basho


Many of the men of old died on their travels, and I, too, for years past have been stirred by the sigh of a solitary cloud drifting with the wind to ceaseless thoughts of roaming.
Last year I spent wandering along the seacoast.
In autumn I returned to my cottage on the river and swept away the cobwebs.
Gradually, the year drew to a close.
When spring came and there was mist in the air, I thought of crossing the Barrier of Shirakawa into Oku.
Everything about me was bewitched by the travel gods, and my thoughts were no longer mine to control. The spirits of the road beckoned, and I could do no work at all.[2]

Time to get going...


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