
margaret’s home.… Nikon D750 f/5 1/400s 72mm 320 ISO

margaret’s home.… Nikon D750 f/5 1/400s 72mm 320 ISO

Nikon D750 f/5.6 1//400s 300mm 640 ISO
When spring escapes
freed from being huddled in winter’s sleep,
the birds that had been stilled
burst into song.
The buds that had been hidden
burst into flower.
The mountains are so thickly forested
that we cannot reach the flowers
and the flowers are so tangled with vines
that we cannot pick them.
When the maple leaves turn scarlet
on the autumn hills,
it is easy to gather them
and enjoy them.
We sigh over the green leaves
but leave them as they are.
That is my only regret–
so I prefer the autumn hills.
~Princess Nukada – 7th Century (K Rexroth I Atsumi, The Burning Heart*)
*note: Princess Nukada lived in the later half of the 7th Century. She was the daughter of Prince Kagami, wife and the favorite of Emperor Temmu.

looking at the mountain
looking at the sea…
autumn evening
~Issa (www.haikuguy.com)

Nikon D750 f/4.5 1/400s 58mm 250 ISO
spurting
image submitted in response to Lost in Translation’s pick a word challenge.

Nikon D750 f/5.6 1/400s 62mm 900 ISO
Image submitted in response to Leya’s lens-artists’ challenge: blending in – or standing out?

A + J
If only his horse
had been tamed
by my hand–
I’d have taught it
not to follow anyone else!
~Izumi Shikibu (J Hirshfield & M Arantani, The Ink Dark Moon)

Nikon D750 f/5.6 1/400s 112mm 640 ISO

Tokiwa Mountain’s
pine trees are always green–
I wonder,
do they recognize autumn
in the sounds the blowing wind?
~Ono no Komachi (J Hirshfield & M Aratani, The Ink Dark Moon)

Nikon D750 f/4.5 1/400 56mm 125 ISO

go…? Nikon D750 f/7.1 1/640s 85mm 100 ISO

Nikon D750 f/5.6 1/400s 135mm 400 ISO
… You press your mind, your forehead, against the beginning of a book, the cool cover of it, appreciating its impenetrability. It is rectangular and thick, heavy enough to stop a bullet or press a leaf flat. It will, you think, never let you through. And then you begin to lean into it, applying little attentive pressure, and the early pages begin to curl back with a soft, radish-slicing sound, and you’re in. You’re in the book. The thick, segmental chapters fan out into their component pages, and each turned page dematerializes itself, once read, into the fluent, cajoling voice its words carry. …When you reach the last sentence, there rests under you left thumb a monolithic clump of paper through which, it seems, you could not possibly have traveled. ~N Baker (preface), A Book of Books
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