Awakened at midnight
by the sound of the water jar
cracking from the ice
—
Basho, I’m too well-acquainted
with the small of the night,
the lonely hours that pull
one out of sleep, so desperate
for company.
Seeing only frost
from my window,
a hoary silence,
and lacking discernment,
I thought it had snowed.
It’s noon, now,
golden, and I’m a foreigner
to myself.
(I don’t normally do writing challenges but was tempted by this great post by Crow, to spend three days exploring quotes as writing prompts. Expect more Basho…)
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Basho is a master of the moment, and so are you.
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A grasshopper compared to Basho, but thank you 🙂
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I have such a longing to do podcasts of your work. ~ P ~
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Those opening lines!!! “The small of the night”! So beautiful. And I second what Crow says.
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That is such a great idea. You make it look effortless. Well put Crow.
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