Answering a challenge to condense three of Basho’s wonderful ku into one. To see the whole challenge visit the original post
It is unexpectedly cold tonight and I am curled up under two quilts, wondering how I came to be in this unknown place. The moon is lost among drifting stars that call to me with a strange intensity.
in a field of dry grass
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow penned the lines: ‘Into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary’. This is true for all of us, and sometimes the darkest days obscure the road ahead. There are people who seem to get the most sips from that bitter cup of rain, and it is then that we must cling to the promise that the light is waiting, there at the end of the road.
patterns of shadow
One wild night again. Seems winter has held off for long enough, and now wants to make up for lost time. Flash after flash of lightning, and thunder sounding as though someone was dropping rocks on the roof. But it wasn’t rocks on the roof, just torrential rain looking for a way in. Luckily the repairs to our roof were good…
the spark of iron
© Maureen Sudlow
for Dverse Haibun
INDONESIAN Church bombings
An explosion, screams and shouts and running feet. The worshipers flee for their lives from the horrifying results of intolerance. But one man runs to meet those others, one man who cares, to face a lost family.
mingles with blood
on the steps
Warmth and wet weather. It may be autumn but there’s lush new growth everywhere. The beans are beaning again, and even the Bay tree is leaping into new growth. The down side is that there are lots of pests about, and my lovely Hydrangeas have got mould. I’m hoping the colder, dryer weather will turn them around, but any suggestions are welcomed.
green on green
bringing out the Irish
in my garden
Crossing Cook Strait was a dream, with the seas still calm ahead of the storm. On deck was a different story though as there was a really cold wind blowing through, and it wasn’t pleasant to stay out there for too long. Have to admit the ferry below wasn’t the one we crossed on – ours was a bit smaller. Loved the mistiness of the hills as we sailed up the sounds, so I left that photo in a rather over-exposed state because I liked it that way.
cry of gulls
and the hills disappearing
Spending time waiting is never easy, and I notice the small sounds. Sounds of water running into the washing machine, Rod shifting his ladder as he paints. I want to carry on with my painting, but can’t settle. The hum of the fan becomes a background to this heat, and the waiting…
A long time since I was home. Maybe it’s time to go back.
and the phone rings
so far away