Category: Haibun

After the snow storm (haibun)

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I took another long route to work today. After a snow storm, I love to see the trees covered with thick snow, many streets only one side is plowed. This reminds me when I drove to work at 6pm. I had to move my car to the other side so the snow plow could clear the street.  There was usually always a warning, a truck drives up ahead with flashing lights and honks to warn a few drivers to move their vehicle, otherwise they get a hefty ticket.

Today I was in awe at the parks and the trees. Of course I felt sorry for the cyclists because we have many avid winter cyclists who often have trouble finding their bike in the huge snow banks the snow plows created.  Today it was wet heavy snow and the streets were slushy. My feet were soaken wet…guess my boots are not as waterproof as I thought.

After the snow storm

Sopping city streets get messy

fairyland parks

~

night snow plows

craft high snow banks

ignoring cycles

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem

snow wonder (haibun)

 

Snow dust and icicles
© Clr ’14

Working today from home, I was blessed to be spared braving the winter storm we are having here in Montreal.  Although I would normally take public transit, I knew the walk on slippery and some slushy paths would not have been pleasant.

By the end of the day, I could see the rising temperatures had turned the snow to ice.  What beautiful images I saw as I admired the bare-branches-no-more, and tiny icicles hanging on like tear drops. I felt elation and a sudden gust of childlike wonder. For long moments, I could feel my grief dissipate, replaced by mild sparks of enchantment.

 

snow dust

coating bare branches

my grief went away

~ 

moments of joy

sheer mystic wonder

brushing my soul

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem

message of serenity (haiga)

© Northern Lights - Alien Study
© Northern Lights – Alien Study

A young teen called once to say he wanted to take his life. Let’s call him Real.  He had seen too much sadness in his short years…abuse, death of a close friend and the pain weighed too heavily on him.  I knew he was calling from the far North and asked him if he often saw Aurora Borealis. “Why yes,” he quickly responded, “It is my ancestors telling me they are safe and happy in their world.  I am going to join them now.”

I asked him if his ancestors might also be asking him if he still had things to do on this land before travelling beyond to meet them. He paused a long moment…he later accepted to go to emergency and get help.  

I can never forget this youth for he phoned our service four days later to thank me, and that he was in hospital getting the care he needed.

multi-hues
whispering from beyond
a life of grace

ancestors
travelling on tinted vapours
call of serenity.

© Tournesol `14

Carpe Diem

baby blues glowed (haibun)

Zappos.com

He was only 13 months old and could barely walk in his stiff white winter boots.  I took him out of his car seat.  I placed him on the huge parking lot at his father’s garage, that was filled with virgin snow.  He looked down and lifted one foot and saw his footprint in the snow; he froze with his baby blues widened, reflecting the light from the showroom.   He then started tiptoeing so as not to mess up the white powdery carpet.

Baby blues glow,

tiptoeing on white powder

pure enchantment

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem timeglass

spirit is infinite (haibun)

© Clr `14
© Clr `14

The only death I truly accepted and understood the infinite journey was my grandfather’s death. Although I was only six, I was blessed to be in a family that was open about life and death; my grandmother being a midwife, talked often of the births she assisted and it did not take away my youth as so many of my Anglo-Saxon raised peers felt…French Canadians kept many European mores I think. And so I remember going to hospital to await the news the doctors would pronounce of the impending fate of my GrandPapa. We often sat by his bedside holding his hand daily for a year, as I lived with my grandparents that year. My sister and I saw the priest perform his last rites, Extreme Unction and his last smile at me surrounded by his children the day he passed.

So for me, finite meant my favourite person had an expiry date to his suffering; he would be in a place where there is no pain, where he could run freely …and yes, I believed this and to some extent still do.

At my age, I have lost many relatives and friends to death and more recently a friend and colleague for whom I have shared a series of haiku; unfortunately there are many I have not quite accepted…sudden deaths, people too far for me to go to their service are mostly the people I still struggle to accept and sometimes I feel it was all a dream and they are still here.

How often I wanted to dial the number of my friend, Janet, who died suddenly when I was far away. The only person who read my mind, felt my emotions; our signal to chat after midnight…one ring…we both knew was the other who wished to talk until dawn. I still don’t accept the infinite passing of this friend.

(American Sentence)

Grandpapa, tu es toujours près de moi, dans mon cœur, ombrant mon âme.

(haiku)

humble corps affaibli
enfin libéré
douleur fini

âme pétillant
pure et infini
les cieux attendent

yeux brillants
plonge dans l’éclat céleste
lumière blanche

lumière blanche
le séduit à l’éther
infinité

infinité
âme sans âge baigna
grâce devin

~

weary body
humble and finite
pain-free at last

soul lives on
infinite and pure
heavens await

iridescence
eyes dip in hallowed glow
white light

white light
seduced to the ether
infinite

infinite
ageless soul bathes
celestial grace

© Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem “accepting the finite”

paradise recalled (haibun)

What is paradise? Is it a place we pray and hope to reach some day? Is it a moment of total bliss, joy and exaltation? I think it depends on where you are in the cycle of your life and where you are in your life. If I were in a war zone, fearing the death of my children and grandchildren, paradise to me would be a safe refuge. A camp with enough food and shelter…safe from harm’s way would be paradise.

If I think of all the “Have’s” we have here…I have here, the luxuries, the comforts, the warmth and living without the threat on my life or my children, family, friends and country…I am really in paradise, non? And yet, we search and crave more.

Walking down the street to work and seeing the sun peak at me through the clouds, is not that a moment of grace? A rainbow an autumn evening in the city at rush hour, what a way to end a busy day…pedestrians looking up in exaltation…the smiles on their faces warm with delight and childlike wonder…those are moments of paradise.

Naive and innocent was I…we were such young newly weds, years later I remember thanking G-D for allowing couples to visit paradise in those intimate moments reaching nirvana.

My babies nursing and looking up at me with their huge baby blues, one hand gently stroking my cheek…paradise in all its splendour.

The soothing purring of my cat when I wake up from a nightmare, she has rescued me and brought me to a heavenly place…a moment of bliss.

To feel comforted, to be worry free, to reach your destination after driving in a blizzard…to arrive in a warm home, with a warm cup of tea…paradise.

I believe writing has allowed me to appreciate more, take note and savour more the moments that we are blessed with every day.

They are accumulations of moments too often missed…not stopping to relish, take a snapshot of those moments …it is the memory of those moments of bliss, paradise, that get me through the sullen moments. So, STOP, slow down, listen, bathe in it and store it forever in the attic of your brain.

(c) Clr '14
(c) Clr ’14

a fleeting moment
hark! you’ll miss it
paradise lost

genuine joy
souls joined in concert
paradise

at long last
barren mother hears bliss,
“It’s positive”

nursing my newborn
stares into my eyes,
lost in paradise

those first steps,
first time hearing “Mama”…
rise to Nana

sun and wind
commune with the lake
blissful sailing

intimate lovers
matching their rhythms
nirvana

muse murmuring,
writing poetic prose
paradise found

enticed by nectar
butterfly kissed buds
heavenly blossoms

echoes in biting cold (haibun)

WIN_20140127_083618 (3)
(c) Clr Snow Day – ’13

After a snowstorm, it is like walking on another planet. The sounds are varied…I don’t need my earbuds…the winter air provides a concert. Hearing the muffled sound walking through fresh powdery snow …30 cm or more. Along the way you hear a flop and look around to see the weight of the snow on pine tree, flop, flop falling to the ground.

Hearing a crunchy sound on spongy snowy surface…makes you want to stop…when my children were little, I would lie on my back on the snow and wave my outstretched arms…we had made our first snow angels on this soft fluffy snow.

If it is warmer weather, the snow will be sticky and heavy…wonderful time to make a snowman or two or nice big fort!

Last winter we had such bitter cold days, not that much snow…well, for our standards in Quebec but the cold…brrrrr… the loud echoes of crunch crunch when walking is so vivid…I love that sound walking home late at night. It keeps me company walking alone.  Wrapped in layers starting with cotton long johns, gloves covered with mitts, lamb lined boots, topped with duvet lined coat, my pilot hat, over a ski mask the air too cold to breath, cheeks prickling from the biting cold. Greeting other pedestrians and we can only see each other’s eyes, masked for warmth.

Of course I cannot, not mention, the unnatural sound but still, the sound that lulls me to sleep or puts me in a mellow mood, the concerto of snow plows part of the night across the street from my home is a huge shopping mall. And then the thundering boom of the road snow ploughs clearing the roads for morning traffic.

ice draped branches
shimmer with radiant glow
moonbeams

crunch echoes in biting cold
warm breath forms cloud puffs

whiff of burning pine
recalling romantic evenings
roar of busy ploughs

(c) Tournesol ’14

Carpe Diem Ghost Writer

North Star (haibun)

November is often a dark morbid month for me. I find I have to get accustomed to the lack of warmth as well as the loss of colours, bare trees and shorter days announce more darkness. All seem so desolate and depressing. But then winds pick up, cool the air so much, clouds once heavy with rain turn into lovely snowflakes.

Soon the earth will be covered in carpets of white; I don`t feel the sunset at four so discouraging now for the snow gives light. It is pleasant walking on the snow covered ground, hearing the crunch of my boots on the spongy snow. We are less than one month before Christmas and now, finally, I am getting into the spirit of the holidays…Christmas meaning so much more than gifts and decorations but the spirit of a rebirth and giving; the sharing of love and warmth among friends and family.

winter stroll
looks up at the milky way
snowflakes on her lips

***
Christmas Eve
sylphs gather in concert
shaping snow sculptures
scheduled with the North Star
welcoming the messiah

(c) Tournesol ’14

Heeding Haiku with HA at MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie

montgolfière (haibun)

Photo: Hot Air Balloon Shadow by Snupi2001 @ Deviantart.com
Photo: Hot Air Balloon Shadow by Snupi2001 @ Deviantart.com

Every August there is a festival of hot air balloons in Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, called Festival International de Montgolfières. The first hot air balloon was developed by the brothers, Michel Montgolfier and Jacques Eitienne Montgolphier from Annonay, France, in 1782.*

Our family lived near this St- Jean. Hot air balloons depend mostly on calmer winds, 10 miles an hour or less. Therefore just after dawn or late afternoons near dusk generally have less wind speed.  We would sometimes see a shadow cast over the field behind our house during dinner just before sunset.

It is always a thrill to see them up in the air when they take off as a fleet with the varied burst of colours in the sky. Last year I stopped on the highway to look at five balloons floating over Mont St-Grégoire. Such a calming effect when they float over you and you can hear only the puffs of air blowing into the fabric of the balloon.

 In this prompt of Heeding Haiku with HA at MindLoveMisery’sMenagerie, we are given two words, chestnut (autumn) and balloon (spring). What came to mind was the festival a month before autumn. August is considered early autumn.

L’ombre d’une montgolfière

plane au vent doux du mois d’août

mulot fuit le chat

© Tournesol ’14

August wind casts

shadow of a hot air balloon

mouse dodged the cat

© Tournesol ’14

 * History of le mongolfière

cold bedding (haibun)

Confused bush by unrulerly @Deviantart
Confused bush by unrulerly @Deviantart

Ten days passed since I had been to work, and since I had marched on that footpath…my shortcut to work.  Today I walked through the bush on this cold sunny day, slipping on the icy patches mourning the dormant shrubs…all I could see now, were patches of brown leaves and branches hugging the snow surface.  I did not take a photo of this new image. No, looking around at the huge change, I needed to mourn the life trampled on by heavy wet snow. Tomorrow will be another day…then, and only then, perhaps shall I photograph  this newly treacherous footpath.

sluggish bushes
disheveled on white
cold sheets

© Tournesol ’14

Haiku Horizons “cold”