Maples ignite this hush of morning,
crimson whispers frame Fuji’s sigh.
Cloistered clouds bow to reflection—
chant hymns of melting snow.
This mountain keeps its counsel silent,
a snow-capped temple above want.
Below, the lake mirrors stillness—
the way ripples cancel each other out.
Villages breathe memory’s incense,
their roofs small altars in time.
In between auric and scarlet leaves,
the air itself again remembers.
While I—pilgrim of hushed light—
stand within permanent transience,
where autumn burns not to end,
but to illuminate surrender.
You described sight and smell so vividly.
Captivatingly enthralled am I, Dear Dragonfly ⛩
“What,” I ask, “could be a more elegant or appropriate greeting for a poem of “Autumnal Japan” than this ethereally gorgeous, cloud-crowned, enchanting image of Mount Fujiyama, framed by Fall’s gold ‘n auburn leaves, resting peacefully beyond its rolling foothills, blessed by land’s colourful and water’s silvery embracing glory?”
Still, the picture, stunning as it is, serves only to dress the sheer essence of your own poetic brilliance, rendered so soul-touchingly, brilliantly laid metaphorical magick, and emotionally stimulating imagery, with nary an excessive, misplaced, or ambiguously flawed moment.
“While I—pilgrim of hushed light—
stand within permanent transience,
where autumn burns not to end,
but to illuminate surrender.” And, to your effulgent art, do I.
You’ve touched my heart, stunned my senses, and made of me a warmly envious fan.
Arigatō, Nanbāwan No Shijin (Thank you, Dear Lady-Poet)! ⁓ Richard🥋
Thanks so much dear poet… I got to spend a month in Japan… it was a profound experience…
Beautifully penned, S. Stunning imagery my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian