trail of secret
woven into the clear sky
~ first spiritual journey (© Sky)
fused in contemplation
probe wit in broken lines
blue skies
hold the canvas
scrutiny
© Tournesol ’15
lines in the sky (Tan Renga)
sans titre (haibun)
Walking home last night at the Métro Bonaventure Station, it was later than usual. It was passed eleven for I usually see several homeless persons lying on the marble sidings soaking up their last minutes of warm slumber. Between eleven and one in the morning, I am not sure if the police alert them of the time or if they have internal clocks but it was after 23:40 and I only noticed one man sitting by the door where late commuters rush off to catch their busses off the island of Montreal.
People kept walking by and the man was not holding out his cap nor mumbling anything as is usually the case when we go by some homeless persons…he looked so tired. I felt bad no one was stopping…true it was late and many were coming home from work…not all late evening travelers are revelers.
I sat down for a moment putting down my backpack, rummaging through the mess looking for my change purse, searching for change to give to this man. I rarely carry money but change, mind you, here in Canada means $1 and $2 coins along with the quarters, dimes and nickles…we got rid of our pennies. Good I found enough to get a coffee and soup at Tims perhaps {I must pick up some coupons from Tim Horton to have handy}.
The man looked at me and I could not see he had a smile {without my glasses} but I did take a few photos} that I had noticed only after seeing the photo. As I walked passed him, stopped to give him my coins, he thanked me so kindly with such a nice smile…the same smile I saw later on that photo.
Such a worry for the homeless people this time of year…last night it was dipping to below 20C and it snowed all night…a nightmare for anyone stuck outside in this bitter cold for more than an hour.
© Tournesol ’15/01/16
Where do babies come from?(haibun)
When I was pregnant with my daughter, I had stopped working six weeks prior to giving birth. The six weeks at home with my son was a nice transition before his sister arrived. He would lean on my huge tummy and asked me earlier on in the pregnancy how the baby got there. He was only 2 and a half. I knew you could tell children the truth about many things and they would retain what they could grasp…make it simple, I was often told. And so I told him that Daddy had a seed that he gave to Mommy to make the baby grow in my womb (tummy). “How did it get there?” he asked. I explained that Mommy and Daddy kissed and hugged each other very tightly. He seemed to be satisfied with that.
Two years later my step-father had passed and my son felt sorry for my mother being alone. “Nanny,” he started, “You should have a baby so you won’t be so lonely.” She explained that she had to have a husband to have a baby. He responded, “Well, I could give you my seed from my testicle and you could swallow it and then you would have a baby.” My mother was SHOCKED but we always got a kick out of that cute story of pure kindness and innocence.
seeding
pure and natural
lovers kiss
© Tournesol ’15
Baby’s breath (Troiku)
Our host at Carpe Diem has given us a haiku by Iio Sogi to inspire us but he has asked us to try to also write a Troiku if possible.
Both grasses and trees
waiting for the moon
dewy evening © lio Sogi
Here is my Troiku:
dewdrops
sparkle like diamonds
savannah gleams
dewdrops
mother nature`s kiss
baby’s breath
sparkle like diamonds
mother’s gaze at her newborn
tears of joy
savannah gleams
revels in transcendence
new dawn
(c) Tournesol ’15
New Year’s Parade (haiku)
dance of the lion
Aunt Kaminari disguised
New Year’s explodes
© Tournesol ’15
piercing arrow (haiga)
piercing arrow
stabbed my heart
only time will heal
© Tournesol ’15
riverdance (haibun)
I really must go back home, mom’s home, to sit by the window and look at the dance of birds. So many different birds taking their turn pecking at the feeder hanging over la rivière Yamaska. What astonished me was the cardinal who is twice the size of the other birds not gaining control over these birds. I guess in the feathered world, size does not matter but cunning prowess and speed does. Why who would have thought that “foxiness” reigns (grins) among birds?
Rival cardinal,
hummingbird wins the contest
dancing on the feeder
© Tournesol ’15
dancing interlude (haiku)
bitter cold winds
pirouetting midst the old oak,
scarf on a branch
~
winter promenade
dances on mirrored street,
the old man falls
**or**
winter promenade
hobbling across mirrored street
tap dancing
**or**
winter promenade
leaping across mirrored street
break dance
© Tournesol ’15
CP Timeglass “dance”
combing cards (haiga)
combing images
reciting ancient verses,
tots play patty-cake
© Tournesol ’15
CP Card Games (Karuta)
Farmers’ market (haibun)
Going to the farmers’ market as a young child was an adventure. My grandmother would take me and I enjoyed the social aspect of it. Farmers chatting with GrandMaman, so many knew her for she was a midwife and probably assisted many births in those farm houses. It was also a place appropriate to bargain at the local market and sometimes just listening to some of the bantering made it fun to be here with her. It’s sort of cool tagging along someone so well known, respected and loved.
Although we lived in town she still knew her fresh vegetables seeing as she had several gardens, flora and vegetables and she knew how to choose fresh meat. She would even test fish by taking a tiny piece raw and taste it to see if it was really fresh; I guess it is no surprise that I learned to eat a tiny portion of fresh extra-lean grown steak raw sprinkled with salt while she was making hamburgers. You have to remember that in those days we went to the butcher and saw him grind the fresh steak.
farmer’s market
old woman picks at the fish
it glared at her
© Tournesol ’15
Tournesol dans un Jardin 
