Sayonara

The afternoon is getting late. We shop for souvenirs, then stop at a restaurant. When finished we walk to the train station to return by land to Shiogama and the car. As we wait, a vision of the past walks by. He's dressed in ancient Japanese attire, wearing straw sandals and a rice hat, treading slowly towards the shore of Matsushima. Maybe he's a monk. Maybe he works in costume at some tourist at-traction. But I prefer to imagine a third possibility: it's Basho bidding us sayonara, leaving our collective dream. The Basho pilgrimage is ending; he’s prepared us well for what comes next.

like Basho I have followed
footsteps of a poet
seeking his inspiration