A Single Stroke

A morning walk brought me to the sheltered courtyard of a neighborhood paper atelier. On a low cedar workbench, a shallow slate inkstone sat beside a tiny earthenware water dropper. I sat down on the bench and eased my sleeves back past my wrists. Adding two drops of clear water to the stone's well, I took up a square stick of pine-soot ink and ground it in slow, patient circles. A faint, resinous aroma rose as the liquid deepened into a glossy black puddle. Dipping a fine bamboo brush into the dark well, I drew one resolute, sweeping stroke across a sheet of fibrous mulberry paper, watching the wet grain drink the ink.