In a grey courtyard a monk sits beneath a pagoda. He is hunched over, plucking his board-like koto in a lilting staccato rhythm. As he furiously plays into a trance, leaves begin to swirl, lending their sweeping percussion to the sharp koto stabs. The rain claps onto the grey stone, cutting the groove into glossy fragments that bounce around the courtyard like atomic particles liberated from their mechanical bonds.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
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