At a village called Komatsu:
Aptly named Komatsu
Child Pine, a breeze blows over
pampas and clover
Here we visited Tada Shrine to see Sanemori’s helmet and a piece of his brocade armor-cloth presented to him by Lord Yoshitomo when he served the Genji clan. His helmet was no common soldier’s gear: engraved with chrysanthemums and ivy from eyehole to earflap, crowned with a dragon’s head between two horns. After Sanemori died on the battlefield, Kiso Yoshinaka sent it with a prayer, hand-carried to the shrine by Higuchi Juro, Sanemori’s friend. The story’s inscribed on the shrine.
a great soldier’s empty helmet,
a cricket singsBasho, “Narrow Road to the Interior,” translated by Sam Hamill, the Essential Basho, p. 30-31
Breathe. The moment opens, like sun-drenched petals, as I release my cares. Breathe. The feel of air on my nostrils. The gentle sound of gurgling water, and the banging of pipes as the heat turns on. The subtle reflection of morning light on white drapes. Just these, no more. Who needs more?
When I allow my gratitude to arise, and when I feel it flow through me with each breath, I feel an accompanying peace. Perhaps this is the peace the world cannot give.
I know it’s the peace that I, myself, can give away.
seeing their faces
I’m hosting Haibun Monday today over at dVerse Poets Pub. We’re poeming on gratitude. Come join us!