The longest night of the year is upon us. From my window the sky is dark and starless. Our neighbors lamp post beams, one bright light in the encompassing blackness. Reminding me of hope which lights our souls: hope of spring, hope of love, even hope of redemption. I think of how one small light can illuminate the darkest places, reaching to the furthest corners, how one small act of kindness can reach into the darkest hearts.
Day 50 Before the Solstice — Haibun Journey View From My Window
From my window, the bright sun looms above the trees. Oh, that brilliant white sun so blinding on an otherwise colorless day. Your surface temperature is 5,778 Kelvin or almost 10,000 degrees fahrenheit. Still today you appear so cold I shiver in your presence. This almost shortest day of the year, not to be warmed.
under the winter sun
turning my collar to the cold
I hurry home
winter sun
rays barely reach
my heart
As I sit in the worn overstuffed chair and watch out my window the dawn approaches with no hurrah. The darkened sky gradually shifts to grey and it looks like it might be that kind of cold grey day that threatens snow. Still the sky becomes lighter, no spectacular sunrise to great me, but gradually shifts to a beautiful blue with white puffy clouds. That is the way my mood is this morning. Gradually waking, enduring pain, and sitting in a grey stupor. Finally my blessings out weigh my stupid feet and I start the day with a smile.
From my window I see mistletoe way up in the top boughs of the oak tree. It’s odd that we associate this parasitic plant with holiday kisses. This plant starts out using photosynthesis, but as it grows and taps in to the host tree it starts to suck the life out of the tree. Kind of like some of our relationships. They start out innocent enough and then the high maintenance behavior begins slowly sucking all the life out of us. And just like this plant as hard to get rid of.
From my window I can see lights reflecting across the distant lake. It makes the surface in the predawn light look like ice. I think about reflections in general. Light bouncing off objects, you can reflect on your life or look at your reflection in the mirror. Now that’s one I should do less of. I probably spend to much time worrying about my appearance instead of just being content with myself. I’m not a teenager by a long shot. I could be proud of my grey hair, and not worry so much about wrinkles. I look out the window again and just enjoy looking at the reflections.
I listen to the gentle hush of the rain. It steadily gets stronger and stronger for about 5 minutes and then tapers off. I look out the window and see a neighbors porch light reflected across the wet road. It evokes a feeling of the noir film era. I listen to the steady plip, plip, plip of the water dripping from the eves and hitting the down spout.
the last raindrops
clinging to the eves
early morning
reflected shadow
from the lamplight’s glow
mind tricks
stately pines tower
in kaleidoscope of greens
pink blossoms flourish
The first snow a surprise, much earlier than expected. There were no phone calls telling of closed schools – you retired this year. There were no delighted squeals or racing feet above our heads. The boy’s long grown, our daughter recently in college. The first snow came quietly, and the solitude stayed. The only footprints, mine and that of the devil raccoon, back to steal another suet feeder. My garden blossoms dusted in white and ice. I cut a rose and bring it in for the breakfast table. Our love not yet grown cold.
garden roses
wighted heads tipped
first snow
Adas Poetry Alcove 