five of seven…wired

On a quiet evening in my thatch-roofed hut,

alone I play a lute with no strings.

It’s melody enters wind and cloud,

mingles deeply with a flowing stream,

fills out the dark valley,

blows through the vast forest, then disappears.

Other than those who hear emptiness,

who will capture this rare sound?

                              ~Ryokan*

elsewhere

*cited:

Sky Above, Great Wind

K Tanahashi

black & white sunday: summertime

On the shins of thin legs

breezes touching the hairs —

time of summer clothes.

                                ~Buson*

summer's freedom

summer’s freedom

Visit Paula’s Lost in Translation for additional images of “summertime”

*cited:

Haiku Master Buson

Y Sawa & E Shiffert