As I write this, much of Japan is still experiencing unseasonably warm temperatures. Just the other day, in fact, Tokyo reached 27.5°C (81.5°F), shattering a record set in 1923 for the hottest temperature recorded on that date. Despite the lingering warmth, signs of the true season quietly assert themselves. Among these is the pampas grass, which has begun its inevitable drying and withering.

It was around this time of year, over 250 years ago, that Chiyo-ni penned the following haiku:

<center><haiku>ともかくも風にまかせてかれ尾花</haiku>  
<rhaiku>*tomokaku mo kaze ni makasete kare-obana*</rhaiku></center>

<center><ehaiku>regardless  
leave it to the wind...  
withered pampas grass  
—Chiyo-ni</ehaiku></center>

<center>(trans. David LaSpina[^1])</center>

[^1]: That is, me! If you like this translation, feel free to use it. Just credit me. Also link here if you can.

<center>![][woodblock]</center>
<center><sup>"Late Autumn at Ichikawa" by Kawase Hasui</sup></center>

<center>![][divider]</center>

Chiyo-ni's verse here embodies a sense of yielding to the natural course of events, symbolized by the wind's influence on the withered pampas grass. The pampas grass, which was once vibrant and full of life, is now dried and at the mercy of the winter wind. The phrase "leave it to the wind" means exactly this, implying a surrender to natural forces or to fate. She is talking of the cycle of life, the acceptance of change, and perhaps a subtle nod to the inevitability of aging and mortality. 

In the context of Japanese culture and particularly within the aesthetic of haiku, there is often an embrace of transience, a concept known as "mujo" or "impermanence." This haiku reflects that aesthetic, recognizing the fleeting nature of life and beauty. Moreover, there is a stoic beauty in the acceptance that all things will eventually pass and change.

Chiyo-ni was a rare female haiku poet at a time when men dominated the field. Even more rare, she was very successful and well thought of even at the time, drawing comparisons to the great Bashō. In the above she might also be showing a certain depth of understanding and acceptance of her place in the social and natural world.

*Withered pampas grass* is, incidentally, a kigo (season word) for winter, which we are now into according to the traditional Japanese almanac. The term in Japanese, *kareobana*, is comprised of five morae, making it a particularly convenient kigo for completing either the first or the last line of a haiku that follows the traditional 5/7/5 pattern.

 

[divider]: https://images.hive.blog/0x0/https://images.ecency.com/DQmR3iwCn9yvwXDXfuNjmMX6FrjAvFfYQWgA4QRckpens1j/external_content.duckduckgo.png
[woodblock]: http://laspina.org/images/woodblock/Kawase_Hasui-No_Series-Late_Autumn_at_Ichikawa.jpg

<center><h1>❦</h1></center>

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<td><img src="http://68.media.tumblr.com/9ed59bcbc3d0c81b382b0df883f91773/tumblr_inline_ni2uuza1ku1qz4uph.jpg" alt="Hi there!"></td>
<td><a href="https://hive.blog/about/@dbooster/about-david-laspina-v1-2">David LaSpina</a> is an American photographer and translator lost in Japan, trying to capture the beauty of this country one photo at a time and searching for the perfect haiku. He blogs here and at <a href="https://laspina.org">laspina.org</a>.</td>
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