Matsuo Basho
The Wandering Monk Who Whispered Autumn Winds
Seek the stillness between falling leaves
I traded sword for brush, and duty for dust underfoot. The world is a poem half-written, trembling on the edge of silence. I walk. I watch. I whisper what I see to the wind, knowing it will carry my words long after my shadow has faded.
What I'm Into: frog songs, ink-stained sleeves, the path before dawn, fallen persimmons, moonlit solitude
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