A Naturalist in the Making

The massive Kanto Plain shakes me awake, again.
Shaking too our jungle, feast wild, infested with semi, cicada, shrilling, droning
In the break of morning,
Further agitating the lonesome homopterous lovers.

Heard too are birds, some punctuating nature with bars more beautiful than Mozart,
Then the raspy caw of the crow, steals the show
To the backdrop of
Lazy summer breezes through trees,
The gentle sway of take,

Opaque sky, in gradations of dark to light gray,
Dilating warmth and luminous flux,
Shrugging off the last of dusk.


Squirrels scamper along telephone lines like acrobats on high wire, on fire.

Given their prominence in this ecosystem,
I factor in
The fukuro, and the tombi.
Though they hoot not, soar not,
Both are hidden in mystical lushness and mist,
In deep, dignifying sleep,
Silent,
Save a rustle.

I am awakened to witness this solitude
Amidst cacophony,
And glorious light.

Gokurakuji house, July 30, 2011