I imagined calligraphers at a wooden desk or easel with a thick brush carefully creating black inked strokes into a Haiku poem. But . . .
On my last day in Kyoto, I wandered Teramachi Kyogoku Shopping Arcade to avoid the rain and my ideal was shattered. A calligrapher stood over a long scroll spread over the floor with a brush in hand. He whisked his brush in rapid strokes and finished in a matter of seconds.