The short night—
By Yosa Buson
Translated by Robert Hass
The short night—
on the hairy caterpillar
beads of dew.
The short night—
patrolmen
washing in the river.
The short night—
bubbles of crab froth
among the river reeds.
The short night—
a broom thrown away
on the beach.
The short night—
the Oi River
has sunk two feet.
The short night—
on the outskirts of the village
a small shop opening.
The short night—
broken, in the shallows,
a crescent moon.
The short night—
the peony
has opened.
The short night—
waves beating in,
an abandoned fire.
The short night—
near the pillow
a screen turning silver.
The short night—
shallow footprints
on the beach at Yui.
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Today I learned that sugar ants live in electrical outlets -- weirdly enough, we don't have them in the pantry or even the cat food dishes, but climbing on the power strip we use in the evening for our phones and laptops, apparently coming through the outlet next to the front door. My love of animals does not extend to insects in my house, and everything that gets rid of ants -- both insecticides and home remedies like peppermint and clove oil -- are bad for cats, so we have to figure out what to do about this before it gets worse.
My Wednesday was uneventful except for chatting with my high school friends, one of whom has a son graduating from medical school tomorrow and another of whom just had a daughter unexpectedly move back home after taking a job near her. It was lovely here, not too warm, and I cleaned out the bird house from which the baby bluebirds recently fledged because I'd read the parents might use it again if the old nest was removed. We watched Kung Fu, which was okay, and started Schmigadoon!, which was fantastic. From local gardens:
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