Now, i'm in the flow of gentle wind.
It seems to take all with it somewhere. . .
The ripples play tender sounds.
The ripples play tender sounds.
He comes home from wandering one day.
The loneliness will return in the noise.
Yes. Slowly. The movement calmly. . .
Yes. Slowly. The movement calmly. . .
This time.   This space..   They will pass...
However, let's meet tomorrow again.
If lucky. . .
If lucky. . .
あかあかと  日はつれなくも  秋の風
松尾 芭蕉 (1644 – 1694)
