I’m not one of those folk who ascribe motives or emotions to mountains. A mountain, whether Kinder or K2, is just a lump of rock, maybe covered with slippery and/or squelchy bits. Any treachery, cruelty, intimidation, or indeed welcoming friendliness, is our human projection; nothing more, nothing less. A mountain Read more…
The voice of a cuckoo
Dropped to the lake
Where it lay floating
On the surface.
A foreword? To a short piece? Yes, there are a couple of words in here that bear definition. One very old, one new. Both I think deserve more use.
Mogshade: an old English for the welcome cool shade cast by trees in leaf
Shivelight: a word coined by Gerard Manley Hopkins for the gleaming shafts of light shining through trees in leaf
The verses are haiku by Bashō, from Sumidawara, published in 1694
Now that’s done, let us away to the story…
A note to a possible reader. On prose, specifically mine, often the purple variety. I make no apology, for none is needed. I love words. I cherish them. I love their variety. I love that old words are refound and ofttimes repurposed, that new words are founded. I cherish the Read more…