Lengthening shadows—
 
an artist plants her easel
 
on the garden path.

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My journey begins—
 
mist from the distant mountains
 
drifts across my path.

 
 
 

On this twisting path,
 
many whom I cannot name
 
have left their footprints.

 
 
 

Feast day of my birth—
 
mist from the distant mountains
 
drifts across my path.

Path

 
 
 

On the stony path
 
how carefully I travel
 
with my walking stick.

Shadow

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
on the path to the teahouse
 
I lose my shadow.

Path

 
 
 

On a stony path
 
I fall asleep, but no one
 
comes to comfort me.