L'aura del Campo

Yamadera (Hourglass 4)

He'd spoken to no one. Not hard in a place where age spoke first, if at all... and then very little. Packed into the train like a sardine coming from market in Sendai, he had felt the loneliness surrounding him. These fellow travelers lived deep inside. He felt the resonance throughout his being. Overhead dark mountains loomed. Oriole looked up at the temples rising one above the other among the dark green pine, red maple and golden ginkgo. Soon all would wash away in the rain. He'd taken the train in search of solitude. To think that Bashō walked here more than 3 centuries ago... He climbed slowly. The end of autumn enveloped him. He inhaled wet pine. Wet leaves festooned the steep stairs. He almost slipped. Oriole decided to rest by an old ginkgo trunk, coins pressed into its wrinkles. What was the purpose of the haiku master's journey? What was his?

© Kåre Enga [175.272] (21.october.2018)

149 words as of 10/23

sight — dark mountains, temples, dark green pines, red maple, golden ginkgo, wrinkles
smell — pine
sound —
taste —
touch — wet, slipped