Carpe Diem’s Kamishibai *departing summer*

On Carpe Diem’s Kamishibai (“Kamishibai” means story-teller in Japanese) our host Chèvrefeuille has inspired us to write a haibun, still following a couple of rules:
– maximum of 100 words;
– the haiku has to follow a few of the the classical rules:
a) 5-7-5 syllables;
b) season word;
c) cutting word (interpunction);
d) interchangeable first and third line
– not obligatory but a possibility for the haibun to be read in English as well as our native language (in my case – Latvian).

Such an interesting challenge – how could I not give it a try?!

I saw them yesterday – hundreds of storks, like a white cloud over the lake. With the sun glitters in the wingspan they were gliding and soaring, gracefully – like they always do. That was the moment when deep down inside I couldn’t ignore anymore the bittersweet feeling of departure. The one of migratory birds, summer and something else indefinable, just very present somewhere in the ribcage. Yes, soon followed by intangible whispers of the wind to the first golden leaf and the raindrops, bringing along the sudden chills. I realise summer is ready for departure. Am I ready to let it go? And does it make any difference if I am not?

afloat in the puddle
feather and sun kissed leaf
-departing summer

* * *

In Latvian:
Es viņus redzēju vakar – simtiem stārķu, kā balts mākonis virs ezera. Ar saules mirdzumu spārnos, graciozi planējam – kā vienmēr. Un mani pārņēma tā saldsērīgā sajūta, kas raksturīga aiziešanai. Kad projām dodas gājputni, vasara un vēl kaut kas nepasakāms vārdos, tomēr tik ļoti sajūtams krūšukurvja apvidū. Ar drīz vien sekojošu vējā nodevīgi čaukstošo pirmo dzelteno lapu, un lietus lāsēm, kas pēkšņi liek nodrebēt saltumā. Es saprotu ka vasara ir gatava doties ceļā. Vai es esmu gatava ļaut tai aiziet? Un vai tam vispār ir kāda nozīme, ja tomēr neesmu?

peļķē
no aizejošās vasaras vien spalva
un rudens lapas zelts

Carpe Diem’s Kamishibai