A banana plant in the autumn gale -
I listen to the dripping of rain
Into a basin at night.
~ Basho Matsuo (1644- 1694)
Basho sits outside his hut, gazing at his beloved banana plant. Rain falls, winds blow, seasons come and go, and still he gazes. Pouring boiling hot water onto fragrant tea leaves in a clay pot, he inhales the rising steam. The leaves of the banana plant rustle in the moonlight.
Basho, where are your drafts, outlines, rough sketches? Do you journal? How many hours a day do you write? Where are your morning pages, your marketing plans, your queries, your submissions?
A smile cracks his face, as Basho dips brush into ink and strokes the paper on his lap. In three short lines, it is finished.
In three short lines - the heart and soul of the poet. It is finished.
@2005 Eveline Maedel All rights reserved * o
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