as falling leaves dance
among the orange flowers
feel the gentle breeze
This haiku is my response to
Poetics: The Landscape Sleeps, Ekphrastic Prompt,
From Merril at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.
Image source: Wikimedia Commons
Katsukawa Shunshō: Child Dancing
with Chrysanthemum Branch
Los Angeles County Museum of Art
Leaves in the Wind
Leaves whisper among themselves, giving voice to the breeze that caresses them. They may speak of birth and the vitality they hold for just one season. Perhaps they speak of the fall dance that awaits them, when they dress in festive colors that shout to the world their exuberance even in their decline. They may move in unison, turn this way and that, shifting shades of green early on or shimmering in the subtle translucence of their late-in-life display, but once they lose their grasp it is the wind that determines their direction.
fallen leaves
rustle in the wind
chipmunks nest
This haibun is another take on the prompt at dVerse ~ Poets Pub,
Haibun Monday: aki no koe (Autumn’s Voice).
I’m sharing it with OpenLinkNight #327 at dVerse.
My first response is here.
Cloud of Fallen Leaves
Four hours of raking leaves into piles and another six hours of raking from the piles onto a tarp to be dragged to my compost pile in the corner of my yard means two days of yardwork, every year. Last year, I decided this old body needed some sort of relief, so I bought a gas-powered leaf blower. At twenty pounds, the backpack is not uncomfortable, and the leaves are blown into piles within ninety minutes. It may be a timesaver, but it still takes two days to move those leaves. I’ll be happy when they can finally be teleported.
cloud of fallen leaves
moves at high velocity
chipmunks on the run
This is my response to Haibun Monday: aki no koe (Autumn’s Voice),
the prompt from Linda Lee Lyburg at dVerse ~ Poets Pub.
The top image is my leaf pile, which fills to the top every year
This is just one quarter of my leaves
(And yes, chipmunks scattered from one pile as I started to rake it onto a tarp)
orange leaves
fall on bluff top trail
river view
maple leaves of brilliant orange and yellow
reflect the afternoon sun
in a final farewell
Haiku, a Japanese form, have three lines with a syllable count of 3/5/3, 5/7/5, or short/long/short. A kigo, or seasonal reference, is integral, and there is often a kireji, or “cutting word” at the end of the first or second line to indicate two thoughts half-independent of each other.
There are distinct differences in kimo, an Israeli variant of haiku originally structured to meet the need for more syllables in Hebrew. Like haiku, there is no rhyme, but kimo have a syllable count of 10/7/6, and deal with a single moment in which there is no movement. While my poem is a moment in nature, kimo have no seasonal or natural requirement. Find discussions here and here.
This is my response to Colleen’s #TankaTuesday Weekly Poetry Challenge No. 296, #Tastetherainbow.
Music to My Weary Bones
When I bought my house I knew there were a lot of trees on my quarter-acre lot. The first time I raked the leaves, I counted the trees. Forty. Even if eight of them are cedar it still means I have thirty-two trees dropping leaves. Every year. Fortunately, the trees and brush on the lower quarter of my pie-shaped lot are so thick that I don’t consider it to be lawn. Every autumn, for nine years years, I raked leaves into piles, raked them onto a tarp, then carried them downhill, to the giant leaf-compost pile I had fenced off. Then I walked uphill, to load the tarp again. Twenty to thirty times. Fifteen to twenty hours over a couple of weeks. Until now. I finally broke down and bought a gas-powered backpack leaf blower. I worked with ear-protecting headphones, but as I joined my neighbors in blowing leaves I’m sure it sounded like a chorus of screaming banshees to the outside world. All I heard was classical music on Spotify as I blew those leaves downhill.
fall cacophony
blue jay squawks in protest
all sounds are muted
flying leaves in carefree dance
as Vivaldi’s music plays
This tanka prose is my response to Colleen’s #Tanka Tuesday
Weekly #Potery Challenge No. 254, #SpecificForm.
Embrace the Beauty
Within the beauty of your golden crown
lies no concern for loss or thoughts
laid bare by harsh truths. Though winter
will surely come, hope never leaves us.
Spring will follow, again and again,
until we embrace the beauty
of our own bare branches.
This poem is my response to Quadrille #141: Heady is the Poem That Wears the Crown, the prompt from De Jackson at dVerse ~ Poets Pub, which is to use a form of the word crown in a 44-word poem (excluding title), with no required meter or rhyme.
Image: Maple at Ha Ha Tonka State Park, Missouri
(click for larger view in new tab)
more than ash
in the end
ash is more than ash
acknowledged
when released
last wish granted with respect
ash much more than ash
This shadorma is inspired by Ron. Lavalette’s Shadorma for Joan,
found here – please read.
I remind myself it’s still autumn
The leaves piled against the fence
and in the driveway
should be reminder enough.
A conspiracy
between this damned hill-of-a-yard
and my total lack of energy.
Meanwhile, I wait for answers
from my doctor. Maybe he’ll rake my leaves.
I could say the same thing
next month, for all the snow we get
here in January. But it’s December.
The tree is decorated, and some of those leaves
just blew into the neighbor’s yard.
I guess I’ll have to listen to
his leaf blower. Again.
The seasons just roll
one into another.
I need to remind myself
I’m still in my autumn.
I haven’t reached my winter.
Yet.
Call this stream of consciousness.
Hiking with Mark Twain
I’ve always enjoyed taking photos of fall colors, especially when I lived in New York, with its colorful sugar maples. Although Missouri has fewer maples, in the eight years I’ve lived here I’ve taken the opportunity to hike in a few of the state parks and conservation areas in the fall. This year I decided to try something different. (Click any image for a larger view in a new tab.)
The Mark Twain National Forest covers 3 million acres (1.5 million acres of that is public land), with nine tracts of forests in the southern half of Missouri. On Thursday, I hiked one of the loop trails in the 16,500 acre Cedar Creek Ranger District, which is the one district north of the Missouri River and has 34 miles of trails. Before 1940, private landowners intensively cultivated the land, resulting in depleted and eroded soils. In the 1940s, the Soil Conservation Service began purchasing and rebuilding it, stabilizing gullies and planting trees and grasses. It’s been managed by the U.S. Forest Service since 1953. The Smith Creek Loop covers 5 miles, but I hiked 5.7 miles to cover a couple of side trails for photo opportunities.
It was a sunny day, and the temperature reached 87ºF by late afternoon (a near record). While I could have chosen a cooler day for hiking (Friday’s high was 49º), Thursday was a dry day in the middle of a rainy spell. I started at the southeast corner of the loop, traveling “clockwise,” which worked out well as I appreciated the mostly-level stretch of the final mile. This image, with the trail map layered over a Google terrain map, shows how much the elevation changes on the trail.
As I hiked the trail, it was obvious that some of it follows former roads. Any trace of gravel or dirt roadway is long gone, and if it wasn’t overgrown it would look like a lane winding through the forest. The width of the loop trail varies from 15-20 feet down to a mere footpath crowded by trees. This area is known for hills and bluffs, so much of the trail includes slopes that climb and descend the numerous ridges leading to the bluffs. We can get some pretty heavy rain here, and those old paths offer the perfect course for runoff, so the trail often winds around or parallels those sections. In fact, we had a heavy rain the day before, so there were a few spots that had slick areas that were hidden beneath fallen leaves. Even on some of the narrow, steep sections, hoof prints were evident, as the trail is open to horseback.
The trail crosses Smith Creek, which is about 25 feet wide, but there was no water running in the creek. One side trail took me to Cedar Creek, which is 30 feet wide with a very mild current. The trail led to an old iron bridge that served the road that once ran through there.
I never had to actually cross Cedar Creek, but the trail loop approaches it at two other points. The overlooks there gave some nice views looking down and across the water. The first was about 100 feet above the creek. The second, at roughly 150 feet above the creek, had some impressive formations, with cedars clinging to the edge of the bluff.
Cedar Creek, 100 feet below a limestone bluff
This tract of land is primarily oak, hickory and cedar, but I saw a dead tree that could have been an ash, and I did get some maple photos.
I had the trail pretty much to myself, encountering one pair of hikers, and these two that crossed my path.
Western Black Snake – 4 ft. long
Its been about a year since I’ve taken a hike of three or more miles. This one was was a reminder that I’ve had a couple of health issues since then. My back and legs were feeling it before I was done, but I recovered with no problems. Early this year I learned of a heart condition I’ve had all my life, one that now leaves me briefly winded when I climb a flight of stairs. The downhill slopes were a breeze, but let me tell you, my heart knew when I was climbing, even on gentle and moderate inclines.
Occasional stops on the frequent uphill climbs were the order of the day. I’m only 67 and have a few years ahead of me, but I’m learning that I need to modify my activity, something I’ll have to keep in mind on future hikes. My favorite part of this hike was the overlooks, so the next time I walk this trail I’ll start at the bridge near the northwest corner of the loop and hike up to the overlooks. There and back.
cooler nights
shadows grow longer
oak turning
This haiku is my response to Frank Tassone’s #Haikai
Challenge #157: Autumn Equino
rivrvlogr 