Perched in the Land of Trees

tree leaning into tree--
an old couple negotiate
the rainy sidewalk

In Speculation #241, American haikuist Robert Spiess said that one of the 'lesser reasons' haiku are so brief is that in them inheres the truth that if words are good, words nevertheless are a rupture of silence which is better still."

Of course, all writing--drama, novels, songs--involves the breaking and returning to silence, but in poems as short as haiku, the silences weigh so much more than in longer pieces.

I love the vivid word rupture; it originally meant to break but from a bursting inside. And it's related to the words abrupt, corrupt and interrupt. However, interrupting the silence does not convey the abrupt change from silence to sound that rupture gives.

Leaf Sink

dachshund
sinking under the leaves—
squirrel titters

Brown on brown on a grey sky/grey cloud day, a day of fierce winds that warns and warns winter's on it's way.



wailing 24-hour wind
how small we are
against the sky

Fetch

dog leaps
toward the falling stick—
drops color the sand


Admit it, none of us can live in the moment like our dog, Mr. Darcy is doing in this combined photo. Leaping, stretching, cannoning toward some crummy bark-peeling stick in the great Ohio River. What you can't see in the picture is a lone tugboat pulling six empty barges upriver toward Louisville, or perhaps even Pittsburgh, PA. These last few days, the solitary tugboat captain has plowed hundreds of miles up the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers, pulling over to the bank at night and sleeping to the lapping of the gentle river waves. It's a peaceful scene, dusk coming on, the moon veiling and unveiling herself with clouds, and the far bank--low-lying farmland--empty and quiet. Behind us large Cave-in-Rock pours out darkness and gathers its secrets. A few hundred yards west, past the bend in the river, a car ferry has just set off for Kentucky.

But Mr. Darcy lives forever in the moment, the way we should be in haiku, experiencing to the hilt this one precious moment which is really all that we have.

Here and Now

As we hurtle into deep fall with Thanksgiving rapidly approaching and a mix of crystalline blue-sky days and long days of rain, I’ve compiled a seasonal word list for fall in Indiana. I’m sure I’ve left many good words or phrases out. Perhaps you have a few favorites of your own.

Fall has always been one of my favorite seasons. The return of cool weather always energizes me; the temporality of autumn’s beauty: its dazzling leaves, intense blue sky, luminous sunlight, and geese v-ing south always remind me how fleeting the best things in life are, barely grasped, barely noticed, barely meditated upon, when suddenly puff -- like a pile of atomized leaves— they’re gone!

Here’s my quick, jotted list.

Indiana Fall Season Words

pumpkin / persimmon/ squash / apples / nuts / Halloween / leaf crunch / piles of leaves/ wind / rain / first frost / first freeze/ harvest moon / coats / gloves / hats / bushy tailed squirrels/ acorns/ maple leaves / red leaves /gold / aurora / mums / chrysanthemums / cranberries / Thanksgiving / time change / early darkness / dark mornings / smoke / bonfires / Orion / bright stars / aurora borealis / grey days / clouds /overcast / morning chill / blustery / trails / woods/bales / hay / rake / football /plowed-over fields /geese flying / crows

Finally, here’s a quote from Tom Clausen’s article “A Haiku Way of Life,” “Haiku for me is the perfect record of my simply existing here and now. Each haiku, in a way, can be thought of as a farewell poem - an acceptance of the transitory nature of everything.”

A Cornucopia of Pumpkins

pumpkins capture
late afternoon sun—
the shortness of days

The news reported that we were short of pumpkins this year--an erratic weather year ruined a lot of crops, but in B-town the round and ovoid squashes appear quite numerous. Besides their striking color, they are so individual in size and shape and texture. I love wandering past them, finding joy in their bright shapes and their endless variety.

Here's a quote from an article called "Feathering the Moment" by New Zealand poet Christopher Herold: "One thing haiku teaches us is that we don't have to go somewhere other than where we are to discover value in things. And we don't have to wait for something worthy to come to us either... Living the 'haiku life' necessitates an ongoing process of waking up to where we are now, accepting that we are where we are, and feeling grateful for this."

Rocky Friends

in the quiet
under the huge rock
so many bedfellows

Aurora Borealis sighting

dipping far south
the bright pink Aurora--
leaf sounds in wind

One of the advantages of working at night is that you occasionally see celestial events that you would probably just miss--an almond-colored crescent moon, the bright green tail of a meteorite breaking apart, the full moon winking one eye, Jupiter's bright steady stare, etc. Last Monday night, as I cycled up the hill home, one whole side of the sky shone a bright pink with quivering sky flames. My first thought was that it was the Northern Lights but since I had never seen any that colorful or dramatic here, I listened for fire engines, thinking perhaps it was a great fire. But the evening was silent. I stopped cycling and just watched the incredible sky show.

When I reached home, I told my husband to hurry outside, but by the time he put on his shoes, and stepped out to the lawn the color had disappeared. There were still a few white aurora flares but he was unimpressed. We had lived for a year in the Arctic where we saw the most dramatic and beautiful aurora displays on nights too numerous to count. But Indiana's pink aurora sky surprised me, bringing its gift of unexpected beauty as though a greeting from the north country I so love.