Rainy Woods

For Kim’s prompt on Real Toads, seizing the day, getting it down.  She gives us three poems. This is the one that inspired me:
And the days are not full enough
And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass. by Ezra Pound

Rainy Woods
“Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.” Langston Hughes

Stepping into rain
the walk leads past autumn woods –
the only sound is the rain tapping on the fallen leaves.
Off to the left a fox runs, tail down.
I stand and watch the rain dripping from the leaves
then I continue on my walk,
breathing in the scents of rain and rotting leaves.

Haibun Monday – Walk

Bjorn is our host today, giving us our prompt for our haibun today. He wants us to share a walk we have taken – a daily walk, pilgrimage, tour…a walk! Share details, feelings – all involved with the walk. This is like a mini-travelogue. Come join us at dVerse today, walk with us, talk with us.

copyright kanzensakura

copyright kanzensakura

Daily Ramble

Every day, regardless of the weather, I walk.  Mostly I walk down our lane to finish at the creek at the bottom of the hill.  Muddy from spring storms, clear and rimmed with ice, sleepy in the early morning – this place is a refuge.  In the summer, the lane is shaded with thick ancient oaks and maple and in the green light of the woods, you can breathe in the cool breathe of the trees and undergrowth. During a rain, the raindrops tap on the leaves and make them dance. Squirrels jump from tree to tree, birds chirp and flutter in the safety of their private cathedral.  Autumn the smell is spicy with fallen leaves and the light filtering through the trees is golden and calm.  Snow sticks to the bare limbs and covers the ground beneath the trees in winter.  Sepia, white, and the dark green of cedar are the colors of winter.  Tracks of deer and raccoons break the smooth white of the snow.

Tender green bursts forth in the spring.  The cycle begins anew.  Daffodils gone wild rise beneath the trees, survivors of a long gone farm.  A cabin in ruins is part of the landscape of this walk.  Wild white roses and white blooms of blackberry vines are thick and fragrant.  Sometimes I take this walk at night.  The muscular sound of an owl rising to hunt breaks the silence.  Peepers who live at the creek stop their night music until the threat passes.  Summer smells of night blooming jasmine and honeysuckle entice me on my night ramble to walk farther, to walk to the creek.  In the winter, snow coats my hair and coat.  At times I will walk through snow and others, I walk before the snow begins to stick.  Sometimes I startle deer in their walk to the creek.

Moonlight sparkles on the black water – all the seasons.  The creek will whisper slow lullabies, sing a bluesy burble, or sing double time, a laughing aria.  I know these woods and the creek through all the seasons, all the times of day and night.  Sometimes in my dreams I walk this walk and often, leave the ground to walk among the watching stars, trying to catch meteors or wade in the River of Heaven** as it swirls in the black sky.  To the creek, to the River of Heaven – my walk.

cedars and jasmine
cool water and spicy leaves –
stars and trees true friends.

copyright kanzensakura

copyright kanzensakura

**River of Heaven – Amanogawa, Japanese name for the Milky Way

Leaves

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Down our quiet lane
a chowchow of leaves create
a lane-way for deer.

Sunday Walk in the woods

Sunday walk

Image

Shita no hō o mitsumeru

BACK STORY OF THIS POEM
Across the way from our home is a field. During autumn, it is full of wild golden flowers: golden rod, heliopsis, wild sunflowers, coreopsis. There are also tall seeded grasses, tiny orange flowered morning glories twining around the stems of the tall goldenrod and occasionally, the site of quail and always squirrels and sometimes finches clinging to delicate seeded grasses, munching away as they sway in the gentle breeze; tiny feet hooked tightly, they ride the grass as a surfer rides his own great wave.

Ogon no senshi means, Golden Warrior. I was walking through this field, entranced by the tall golden rod all about me, many of them six feet tall. At 4’10”, it was like walking among a forest of golden spires or, to my fanciful mind, ranks of ancient golden Samurai.

I stopped and looked up at one of the taller goldenrod. The breeze caused it to dip as if it were bowing to me, to allow me passage through the golden ranks. I smiled, bowed in return, and continued with my walk. A friend gave me the name of Kunoichi-no-Chesterfield after a, ahem, foray one night. The correct term more respectfully would be Onnabugeisha, but kunoichi works for this. I hope you enjoy.

Golden Warrior
We stand eye to eye
Kunoichi-no-Chesterfield
and Ōgon no senshi

wind blows
we bow
I pass

goldenrod

photo copyright by Kanzen Sakura

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