By Charles M. Sumid      Copyright 2025      Written 2025     720

BASHŌ:

This grove—

even the leaves

hold their breath

before speaking.

CHARLES:

I’ve been coming here for months,

trying to understand what they’re waiting for.

BASHŌ:

Perhaps they know

something we have forgotten:

that silence has its own seasons.

CHARLES:

Like the space between raindrops

just before the storm breaks?

BASHŌ:

That weight in the air

when everything prepares to listen.

CHARLES:

kneeling beside a moss-covered stone

Even this moss grows

in the quiet spaces

where nothing else can reach.

BASHŌ:

The smallest things

require the deepest silence

to flourish.

CHARLES:

I watch people fill every pause with words,

afraid of what might unfold in the gaps.

BASHŌ:

What do you think they fear finding there?

CHARLES:

Maybe themselves.

The parts that don’t need

explaining or defending.

BASHŌ:

The pond reflects perfectly

only when its surface

remains undisturbed.

CHARLES:

You’re suggesting silence isn’t empty space but… full space?

BASHŌ:

Feel how this morning breathes.

Not absence—

presence without agenda.

CHARLES:

The hardest part is learning when not to speak.

BASHŌ:

placing a small stone carefully

The stream knows exactly

when to sing

and when to flow in silence.

CHARLES:

Should we sit quietly for a while?

BASHŌ:

We already are.