Fallen leaves carpet grounds in ambers, except for those that hold on limbs for dear life. Parks are barren, missing squeals of youths and laughter among families. Park benches are abandoned by lovers, both young and old. Autumn’s melancholy mushrooms over time as winds blow mockingly. Suddenly, temperatures rise to unseasonal heights with warmer days, oh! so short-lived, teasing all things living.
Indian Summer squats
basking under sun kissed skies
Mother Nature lies.
Our host, Chèvrefeuille, at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai explains that “Tengri” means ‘sky worship’; haiku is part of Tengrism … look around you …. see the signs of nature and read them … just read them.
On her walk Sunday, she was attracted by the sounds of hundreds of birds chirping in several trees. Her head up she sees flocks of birds flying south. What were these birds doing in the trees. It was nippy that day as well with very cool winds. She regretted not having brought an extra sweater to put under her spring coat, better still, her winter coat would have been a much wiser choice.
So many birds were flying past this tree filled with birds. “Perhaps they are resting before flying further south,” she thought. She stopped to take in the concert and listen to the birds harmonize. Such wonder to stop for a moment and breathe in nature’s richness, even in a big city!
A collective birds plan their long journey gathered together
gathered together sort out their pecking orders, sing in harmony
sing in harmony she listens with reverence, nature’s grace
Walking home last night she sees grey swirls elevated near the curb as she crosses the street. The first frozen puddle she has noticed in the city, autumn’s last month flirting with winter. She knows the days are numbered now. Leading towards the end of this season sometimes feels like walking towards a grave.
fallen to their death leaves spread season’s quilt tucking in the earth
Although logic knows the earth is not dead but asleep…napping for a spell, until spring, the dark of day lacking sunshine makes us feel this way on this cold day of November. Not only does nature seem somnolent but the sun as well, turning in so early.
sun bids farewell yet, it’s only teatime! autumn’s new soirée
No longer can one dine in the evening whilst they admire art displays in the sky. (sigh!) The artist too, has turned in earlier, skipping dinner and off to bed.
painting moods in blues in the darkest hour cleansing of new dawn
One can sometimes hear In the darkest hour awe celestial notes message from the heavens, still, she is not clear…
Nature has its mysteries, that she does not know; makes it all the more appealing, savouring the unknown.
whispers in her ear playing sanguine notes lighting up her soul
I think I may have gotten carried away here with poetic prose and turned a few sentences into haiku and tanka. I am still categorizing this as a haibun.
On my way home to the Métro from work, I stopped a moment to embrace the quiet of the night and the lovely autumn colours. Then I admired the doors along the way.
It’s been getting colder in the past week. Nights have dipped below freezing point and she has mixed feelings about that. Ragweed allergies will finally cease; daytime walks are still splattered with colours but the nights walking home from her late shifts will now be cold.
On her way back from her favourite grocery, Thai Foo, greens in her backpack, she cannot not help but notice sweeping changes with nature around her. Many trees have lost most of their leaves, and the late bloomers who also shed the latest, still hold some beautiful colours. The yellow turned to a dark orangey tint, the maples were an even brighter red and one tree she could not name had yellowed leaves with dark brown strips of seeds hanging. It truly looked like a Hallowe’en decoration. How totally apropos, she thought.
She knew there was about a week left of signs of life through tints and hues. After October 31st…the goblins will have eaten up most of life’s colours. November will prowl like rodents lurking garbage bins; life will appear barren day by day. She admires the last photos she took today, wishing this week could drag on a few more months. Le mois des morts(the month of the dead) is what they call November in her region.
Tournesol dans un Jardin 