Has been a long winter in Scotland and have been out through various trails. Wandering through these half forgotten, foggy forestry roads in the hills. Spider webs and open voids, condensed silence shattered by heavy wingbeats. Have been thinking more about Matsuo Basho, and Ryokan’s roaming too and mountain living.
dreams lost in the grasses, fleeting glimpses
subtle snow smell, looking up and looking outwards
Ryokan’s twilight climbs, life stirred up in the piles of old leaves, playful signs
Thinking about contrasting essences, empty-full, muddy-untainted, speed-slow, darkness-light
over the winter river
an eagle gives me a sharp glare
from the mountain ridge
translation of Ryokan haiku
