(our small fish pond in summer)
For K. Sakura.
My solitude is shared by the night time crickets and a soft hooting owl. Having withdrawn from crushing-concerns, the moon must approve. She shines comforting moonlight through a ruined roof. Moonbeams filter dust motes as if a thousand fish are swimming upstream and turning around.
Tonight I will sleep.
The moon floats though my dreams
Comfort blankets me.
Haibun : Summer =
The summer was beautiful, despite the heat. Last night the moon looked like a beggar’s cup, soft brilliance glowing. The days in the Deep South are sultry, but the wind picks up in late afternoon when a storm is coming and then these huge oaks and pecans are whirligigs high in the sky. Barley tea, iced tea and lemonade are the drinks of choice, harkening back to an earlier time. Closed drapes, blinds at noon work to regulate temperature, though one doubts this will.
The heat brings to life cicadas, or whatever is making a constant buzz outside. It comes in waves, where one group, or species, competes in volume with another. A call and answer of tent meeting insects. The dogs of summer are wise: flattening themselves on the cool tiles of the laundry room, they remain motionless until the cooling of the night when they chase rats in the kudzu. They have developed a taste for watermelon, and we sit on the back porch and share with them, all spitting seeds, while a wood owl barks from a huge oak above. We never see him, but his hoots add to the symphony of summer nights.
Sultry air disturbs
The sleep of husband and wife.
They pant without lust.