After The Last Visitor Has Gone

Long after the visitor has gone

The sound of the bell

Lingers amongst birdsong.

Stepping stones scattered

Across the mossy floor

Sunlight, brilliant green.

Beyond the autumn leaves

A tea house roof –

A gentle murmur of voices

Mingling with water’s flow.

Under a brilliant sky

Red, yellow and orange leaves

Barely disturbed by the breeze.

To the camellia flower

A visitor resting,

Lunch perhaps?

Reaching the mountain top

Swallowed by cloud –

No view reveals all.

Softened by rain

The earth breathes

In-breath follows out-breath –

Drip, drip, drip from a pine branch tip.