Haibun

Dear Mary,    

 

Do you like this new stationery? I think it’s cheerful, and we all need cheerful, no matter the news in the papers and on the television.  

 

bitter cold

pink roses trailing 

the edges of vellum

 

I do like nice writing paper. I wonder how much of it is sold. So many people send emails or texts, which are all right if you need a quick response. But, then, there’s always the telephone for that. 

 

supper time—

from an open window

she calls for her son

 

I’m sitting at my desk, the sun behind me, warming my back as I write. Today, I’m baking bread. Remember how Mom’s bread always got us racing into the kitchen for slices slathered with butter? 

 

the neighbor’s lilacs 

free for the taking

a wafting fragrance

 

My African violets have buds on them. I didn’t kill them, after all. Just gave them transplant shock. I don’t know why I take on new responsibilities, but I must keep them alive. Maybe, it’s the need to be needed. 

 

great-grandpa

passes on his stories

to the young ones

 

I’m thinking ahead to summer. How would you like a visitor for a couple of weeks? We’ll pretend to be newly arrived and visit all the touristy places and then cool off at that secluded beach up the coast. 

 

the setting sun

below the horizon

the cool splash of waves

 

I must get on with my day, the usual routine of washing, ironing, dusting, . . .It may just be warming up a bit outside. I hear a small gurgle in the gutters.

 

spring shopping

to dress up the garden

new seed packets

 

Much love, as always

Adelaide

 

 

 haikukatha July 2024 

 

Haiga

 Haiga: Black & White

Tanka sequence

The Planet’s Hourglass   

changes, they say

are for easier lives

and we accept,

we rejoice, we implore

give us more, give it now

 

we close eyes and ears

ignoring the naysayers

and the unborn

whose cries we still with laughter

and distain 

 

if we stay on course

there will come a day

that has no light

a rain that has no end

a cold that stops the heart

 

if there be but one

who has faith and the will

to be a voice of truth,

to act the truth he speaks

he will be heard

 

if his deeds be large

or if his deeds be small

he will be followed;

hope is in the addition

of even one grain of sand

 

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Drifting Sands

 

Haiga

Haigaonline

 

Haibun

FINDERS KEEPERS 

 

 

Early dusk in mid-autumn. The air is scented with damp earth and fermenting leaves. I’m on a walk in my neighborhood. As there are no sidewalks, I walk in the road, staying close to the brush, the weeds and dirt and. . . apples. Apples?  I look up. An apple tree. Here. In a suburb of New York City. The ground is covered with them. They are pitted and bruised and have  soft spots, but I gather up as many as my pockets and hands can hold, feeling like I did when as a child I found a penny on the sidewalk.

 

wind-fall apples

cutting out the bad parts

to make applesauce;

if time spent were money

I couldn’t afford a jar

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