I took a boat through two-hundred islands going nowhere in particular. At night there was wind. I walked the empty streets–no one stopped me. Then, morning and some snow. Well, here I am. I smiled and bowed. I didn’t read a newspaper or offer an opinion.
Islands piled upon other islands. “Smoke of burning leaves and pine cones drew me on,” read one translation.
The moon rose. I wandered from room to room–in each, I looked through a window. The window looked back. It was the beginning of the new year.
Featured Image by: Jon Grönholm