Been a while since I posted, but I have been writing! Working on making my novel into episodes, with the goal of publishing on Kindle Vella when it is ready.
The haiku below relate to the work I’ve been doing outdoors in this summers extreme heat. Good to be back on Tanka Tuesday!
In smoldering heat The black mulch glistens wetly Sweat soaking my shirt
Hawks cry and circle I point them to the mole holes Whose mounds scar the lawn
The sun blazes heat In the green leaf shade I rest Leaning on the spade
It’s nice to say nothing It’s nice to talk expansively It’s nice to hunch forward and stare at something intently.
It’s nice to walk slowly It’s nice to run fast enough to create your own breeze It’s nice to know the difference between squirrel chitters and bird calls.
It’s nice to love gently It’s nice to love passionately It’s nice to have a dog sit on your foot as you pet its head.
I failed to get us eclipse glasses. Honestly I didn’t even think about it. We were so caught up in Uconn’s championship run and celebrating our birthdays that it didn’t occur to me to pick up glasses.
I had a solution. Years ago, I was washing dishes during a partial eclipse, and I saw the reflection of the sun in the water. Realizing I could watch the reflection safely, I filled a small dish with water and placed it on the garden window. I was able to “watch” it indirectly. One cool effect is that the depth of water means a layered image: the top image is nearly too bright to look at, but the refracted ones are like shadows, and give a really good sense of the shape of the sun as it is obscured.
This picture is as close as I could get to capturing the effect. The reflection allowed us to enjoy the partial eclipse here, but I’m sure didn’t compare to the total with appropriate lenses.
Here’s the poem I wrote years ago when I discovered this eclipse watching cheat code:
I watch the eclipse In a dish In the garden window.
Even reflected The light stings my eyes.
The water is still, Deep enough To give shape to the sun.
I tap the rim and the water tilts Tipping side to side. The sun in a cradle Rocking, rippling, warped.
Yesterday was leap day. I spent it taking care of my wife, who is recovering from a hip replacement. Her situation reminds me of the transition from Winter to Spring. Winter would be her painful determination to keep going despite the physical obstacles she was facing. Spring has just begun: the healing and slow emergence into pain free movement after surgery.
Sit still on leap day And heal like the quiet earth Growth comes again soon
Not really feeling like spring today in Southern New England! Pretty good sized snowstorm passing through. But I liked the image that these kigo words gave me: Shallow Spring, bush warblers and returning cold.
I tried to work today’s weather in, but it couldn’t happen. The image I chose is one that I have been noticing for several weeks: flocks of small birds in bushes by the trail. They’re a fun and refreshing sight.
Shallow Spring invites bush warblers; returning cold can't diminish songs.
I love a challenge but this one was initially daunting. At tankatuesday, we were given a mission to write a bussokusekika, a Japanese form that is generally found at a specific Buddhist temple. It was challenging enough to write 3 verses with a 575777 syllable count, but I also wanted to honor its spiritual roots.
Luckily I had just taken a hike that provided an perfect image. Nature being a place of great spirit, I thought that this was fitting.
I stop on the path That ice has taken over A giant puddle That stretches into the woods And covers the trail forward Ahead thin ice blocks the way
These woods are our home. The right of the path slopes up Boundary to ice Water cannot puddle there. I gaze through tangled branches I look for a way through trees
Anna cracks through ice She shakes a wet paw and turns Following my steps I find a path through branches A way through brush sticks and stones A soft trail through leaves and loam.
My haiku for this challenge uses the Kigo words “evergreens” and “bare trees”. I find myself enraptured by what is revealed by the bareness of winter. I especially love how the contour of hills is shown because we can see through the trees. I am caught by the jagged, long peaks that are exposed in this season.
Snow reveals all things: Burdened evergreens bending Bare trees branches weave.
Mark Bozeman 