Mist on the mountain—
 
a starling far from its nest
 
starts to lose its way.

 
 
 

Little by little
 
I make my way through the mist
 
spilled from the mountain.

 
 
 

Did I startle you,
 
grasshopper beside the way?
 
My apologies!

 
 
 

Night of the new moon—
 
I stumble in the darkness
 
on my homeward way.

 
 
 

On his homeward way
 
an old man trudges slowly,
 
weighed down by spring rain.

 

 
 
 

With spring on the way,
 
I dream of carrot seedlings
 
reaching for the sun.

 
 
 

Buffeted by wind,
 
a crow on its homeward way
 
steers a crooked course.

 
 
 

Having lost my way,
 
I ask the owl for wisdom
 
on this moonless night.

 
 
 

Of the way ahead,
 
what could plum blossoms tell me?
 
Would I understand?

 
 
 

Without the streetlights,
 
I would surely lose my way
 
on this pre-dawn walk.