In walking, ones thoughts become still. This is not to say that time stops; instead, in peace, each moment becomes clear, bright, as if seen through crystal infinitely delicate, held to the eye in wonder. In walking, I have felt these moments.
I saw once a great tree, standing beside the wooded trail. Approaching, I laid my hand on the roughness of its bark--and in doing so my heart was lifted, and reverence fell upon me, as dew blown from the highest boughs. I bowed my head, silent. Then I continued on my way.
as the lifting
of the gossam veil
this deep tree
My first experiment in haibun, a form consisting of both prose and poetry developed by Basho. In these, titles are usually accepted.