With a mouse-trap snap
a wisteria pod splits
spraying bullet seed
I was pottering in the garden today and mulching around some wisteria that I grew from collected seed last year. It reminded me of this haiku I wrote last winter. I had left the wisteria pods on a window sill in a plastic bag, and then forgotten about them. A few weeks later I was startled by sudden bangs and snaps, and found the splitting pods had shredded the bag and sent the seeds across the room!
For the dVerse “midsummer live” prompt:
A silent relic
recalls bright midsummer songs
through winter darkness.
Not live, but rushed to you only a few hours later. 😀
Looking forward to the return of dVerse after your summer break!
A ha’sonnet for Stephen, and his infernal cicadas 😀
still clinging tight,
through summer days,
through longest night –
that flew from you.
There’s a cicada case on a tree in my chicken coop. It was a lucky insect to make it above chicken height and escape, and I guess it’s left-over case has some of that tenacity.
I remember heat,
day after day, relentless.
I remember the air,
thick with smoke and fear, Continue reading
A dark shadow flies towards me –
too fast, too much intent
for another clump of seaweed.
Passing close, the ray pays me no heed,
as it soars below, rippling as it sweeps past. Continue reading
What’ll we do
when the dam is dry
and the sheep stand by
and they look at me,
and they look at you?
What’ll we do? Continue reading
For the dVerse Haibun Monday prompt: Cherry Blossoms.
Every day I drive past a field on the edge of the village. A view of it opens suddenly between rows of tall trees, and I have to look quickly to catch a glimpse of it as I turn onto the bridge into the village. Today this field is darkened by the autumn rains to mud-brown, and even the sheep, knee-deep in mud, are mucky grey-brown.
But in my mind, it is emerald green with fresh spring growth, dotted with white sheep. It is sweet summer deep-gold with ripe grain and pale-gold with dry straw. It is drought-dry hard summer ochre, with willy-willies swirling columns of dust among the thirsty sheep. It is autumn grey. It is glittering white with winter frost. In a single glimpse it is all of these, all at once, each a vivid transparency overlaid on today’s precious glimpse.
I blink, and the field is behind me and I am slowing to enter the village, where the houses and a line of decorative street-trees begins, the last yellowed leaves falling from their bare branches…
I see blossoms foam,
leaf buds forming, un-furling,
on bare black branches.
For the d’Verse Haibun Monday prompt “Walk with me down memory lane”, but instead of a walk, I took a drive down memory lane. Continue reading
From summer downunder, for Eugi’s weekly prompt “winter”. So great to have these prompts back! Thanks Eugi!
your buttocks are scorchy!
It is time to turn us
away from the fire.
For my northern hemisphere friends – hang in there, the Earth will be turning her upper cheeks to the sun soon, and you’re welcome to it. (And if you’re thinking winter is when you’re further from the sun, you might want to read Obliquity.)