An imaginative evocation of Basho's Journey to a Far Province through my daughter's marathon walk down the length of the U.K. from northern Scotland to Land's End, Britain.
The Narrow Village, Basho, My Daughter, and Me
(Click on the thumbnail below for a full-size (500 pixels wide) image.)
The next day, we went to the village of Shinobu to see the stone against whose rough, naturally patterned surface textiles had been mottled long ago by rubbing fronds of shinobu, or hare's foot fern, over the cloth.
In a tiny hamlet at the foot of a distant hill, we found the stone, half-buried in the earth. Some village children came and told us that the stone used to be at the top of the hill, but people going to see it kept pulling up barley to try their hand at rubbing, and the farmers were so annoyed that they dislodged the stone and sent it rolling down into the valley. They children said the stone lay face down. Their story was quite probably true.
Young hands planting rice!
Erstwhile I see them rubbing
Ferns with equal grace!
Basho, "The Shinobu Mottling Stone," Narrow Road to a Far Province.
Nice poem you have there.
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