Dragon of the Red Dawn: A Merlin Mission

of the river outside, Jack started to feel peaceful for the first time all day.
When the water was hot, Basho poured some into each of the tea bowls. Then he handed the warm bowls to Annie and Jack.
“Thank you,” said Annie.
“Thank you,” said Jack.
“You are welcome,” said Basho.
Jack carefully took a sip from the steaming bowl. The green tea tasted bitter, but he didn’t mind it.
“Hmm, interesting taste,” said Annie. “Basho, Jack was wondering, if you’re a famous poet, why do you live in such a dinky house?”
“Annie!” said Jack, embarrassed. “She’s kidding. I wasn’t really wondering that.”
Basho laughed. “Long ago, I trained to be a samurai,” he said. “But I was not happy. All I wanted to do was write poetry. A poet does notneed to live in a castle. A poet needs to live with the wind and the clouds, the flowers and the birds. Here, I have a small garden and my banana tree. I have the sound of the river all day long. Here, I have everything I need to write my poems.”
“What do you write about?” asked Annie.
“Small things,” said Basho. “A crow picking snails out of the mud, a woodpecker hammering a tree, pine needles scattered by the wind. A poet finds beauty in all the small things of nature.”
“And you teach poetry to the samurai?” asked Jack.
“Yes, the samurai greatly honor the art of poetry,” said Basho. “Poetry helps focus the mind. The samurai believe a truly brave warrior should be able to compose a poem even in the midst of an earthquake, or while facing an enemy on the battlefield.”
“Can you say one of your poems for us?” asked Annie.
“Let me think,” said Basho. “Well … I was working on a new poem yesterday.” He reached for a wooden box under the table. He took a small piece of delicate paper from the box and read aloud:
An old pond:
a frog jumps in—
the sound of water.
Basho looked up at Jack and Annie.
“Hmm,” said Jack. “Nice beginning.”
“It is not just the beginning,” said Basho. “It is the whole poem. A small moment in time.”
“I think it’s great,” said Annie. “I love frogs. Your poem makes me love them even more.”
“Would you read it again, please?” Jack said. He felt like he must have missed something.
Basho read again:
An old pond:
a frog jumps in—
the sound of water.
Jack nodded thoughtfully. “Good,” he said. “It’s really good.” And he meant it. The poem made him feel as if he himself had been right there, by that pond, hearing the frog splash into the water, breaking the silence.
“If you like it, you may have it,” said Basho. He handed the paper to Jack.
“Thanks!” said Jack. As he put the poem in his bag, a bell rang softly in the distance.
“Ah, the temple bells,” said Basho. He stood up. “It is time to rest. I will take a mat and sleep outside. I enjoy sleeping under the stars. And now, because of the poem you recited today, Annie, I shall think of them as diamonds in the sky.”
Annie smiled.
“You can stay inside and cover yourselves with these mosquito nets,” said Basho. He pulled some nets from the bamboo chest and handed them to Jack and Annie. “But do not worry, in my small house there are only small mosquitoes— not giant ones like those in the Imperial Palace.”
Jack and Annie laughed at Basho’s joke. He gave a net to each of them. Then he picked up one of the mats from the floor and pulled it outside, closing the door behind him.
The fire in the fireplace had died down. The light from the oil lamp had nearly gone out, too. Jack and Annie lay on the straw mats and covered themselves with the mosquito nets. A cricket chirped on the hearth. Jack noticed a patch of light on the floor. He realized it was moonlight coming through the open window.

Jack reached out from under the net and put his hand on the square of pale moonlight. He could hear the rustling of the banana plant in the breeze. Half asleep, he imagined himself swaying with its long, broad leaves.
“This dinky hut is much nicer than a castle,” Annie murmured. “I feel like we’re tiny crickets going to sleep.”
“Yeah … I feel like I’m holding moonlight in my hand,” said Jack, “and like I’m a banana leaf… dancing in the wind.”
“Sounds like a poem,” said Annie.
“Yeah … maybe I should write it down …,” said Jack. But instead, he fell fast asleep.

C lang, clang, clang!
Jack opened his eyes. The sound of bells filled the night—not the gentle ringing of the