Basho

Many avalanche professionals view the Japanese poet Matsu Basho as their patron saint, in no small part because of his commitment to simplicity and his commitment to the road.  He was an original Japanese dirtbag of the late 17th century.  But it may also be because of a winter haiku,

Basho took his name from a type of banana tree, under whose canopy and shade he spent countless hours sitting and meditating.  He described the tree as useless and yet he loved it all the same.  

It's also my understanding that he (and a few others of his time period) bucked convention, shall we say, in their writing and lifestyle.  

I recommend his travelogue, Narrow Road to the Deep North.  Not incidentally, the Tasmanian novelist Richard Flanagan a few years ago borrowed the title for a piece of historical fiction that, to me, is a beautiful treatise on leadership.  Sometimes, beyond self-doubt, even momentary self-loathing, one needs to rise to the occasion because that is what is needed.
But I digress.  

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So.
In light of the changing seasons - 

With apologies to Basho,
And for my friend George,

Silken fireweed.
Still in straw hat
And sandals.

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Even in summer,
Hearing the cuckoo's cry,
I long for summer.