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An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.

Matsuo Basho

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Matsuo Basho
Age: 50 †
Born: 1644
Born: January 1
Died: 1694
Died: November 28
Artist
Poet
Writer
Vaxjo
Matsuo Basho
Bashō
Bashô
Basho
Matsuo Bashou
Night
Didn
Matter
Think
Thinking
Life
Autumn

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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
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Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
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My body, now close to fifty years of age, has become an old tree that bears bitter peaches, a snail which has lost its shell, a bagworm separated from its bag it drifts with the winds and clouds that know no destination. Morning and night I have eaten traveler's fare, and have held out for alms a pilgrim's wallet.
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The basis of art is change in the universe.
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Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
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Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
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