Awakened at midnight
by the sound of the water jar
cracking from the ice
—
Basho, I’m too well-acquainted
with the small of the night,
the lonely hours that pull
one out of sleep, so desperate
for company.
Seeing only frost
from my window,
a hoary silence,
and lacking discernment,
I thought it had snowed.
It’s noon, now,
golden, and I’m a foreigner
to myself.
(I don’t normally do writing challenges but was tempted by this great post by Crow, to spend three days exploring quotes as writing prompts. Expect more Basho…)
OPTIONAL POETRY 
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Basho is a master of the moment, and so are you.
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A grasshopper compared to Basho, but thank you 🙂
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I have such a longing to do podcasts of your work. ~ P ~
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Those opening lines!!! “The small of the night”! So beautiful. And I second what Crow says.
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That is such a great idea. You make it look effortless. Well put Crow.
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