When you enter the dunes, you leave the world as we know it. Sand becomes the land inverted and the sky grows closer and bluer. It’s our New England desert.
The sacred earth becomes revealed, stripped of woods and fields and never having been introduced to the temptations of building, pavement, and all its assorted electric paraphernalia.
Every now and then you see some kindred footprints pass by yours. Tracks of deer or maybe a coyote will, for a moment, fill your trail with ghostly mythic spirits. A hammer pounding in the forgotten distance across an unseen bay will drum some indigenous beat.
The four directions are coming home to you, to help you find your way.
THE SOUND OF A VISITOR
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Here is a winter hokku by Buson. 待人の足音遠き落葉哉machibito no ashioto tooki
ochiba kanaExpected-person ‘s footsteps far fallen-leaves kana The far
footstepsOf an...
7 hours ago

1 comment:
Hey, Greg! Can you record this one for the next THE COUNTDOWN? Let me know...
Thanks!
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