Antaiji Haiku

A few haiku about my Antaiji experience:

Good fellow, next bench —

stretched out, hat pulled over head —

not snoring, not yet.

A late mountain snow.

Below, the green field patchwork

still holding it's own.

After a hot bath,

in raggityanne loaners,

she's a warm homeless.

Hands at quiet work

sorting a portion of rice

her thoughts are elsewhere.

Sitting quietly

a sudden downpour and gusts

shaking the hondo.

A homeless ghost

winds his shape through the forest.

I think of his face.

Rushing streams gouge out

new paths in the mountainside,

my paths lead to you.

Four visiting monks,

laughing, play with the children,

smoke, drink beer, eat cake.

Cleaning out the bugs

from ashes of ancestors —

A fine remembrance!

All the walls fallen

the small I that once was now

transparent as wind.

Early spring morning —

monks rake the pine needles off

one hundred eight steps.

Continuous rain —

day spent cutting and glueing

shoji paper strips.

A bit like sitting

in snow this early morning

and no socks allowed.

Late in land of Oz

Thoughts cloud over a cold moon.

Winds stir old tea leaves.

Collecting wild eats —

Warabib and soft zenmai —

Your morning harvest.