Yard Sale of Thoughts

The Japanese birds wake me with their giggling. They are excited to see morning. They float past the window like tiny black dots of calligraphy, as I turn toward my one-eyed Daruma doll and count my many blessings.

This is the way of things. The green of the mountain side purified by white sky—a green tea in a white ceramic tea cup.

On the bench, a stranger faces up to feel the light rain, the water that makes possible all things. The onsen washbowl tilted towards the face.

You and I below clean, white sheets, just a few inches from our feelings, as the children lie nearby wrapped neatly in their dreams.

And I can sustain the purring of the switchback train, not loud enough to disturb any of these happenings.

With unpainted eyes, the full moon took her private ride on the last cable car out to sea.

©2025 | K.F. Hartless

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