It’ s raining. Those small drops landing everywhere. They are not just dripping and dropping, no. Thrusting through branches so delicately to finally reach the place to land on. Smoothly, yet with a soft shudder as they touch leaves, almost making them sigh. Fondling every single blossom, outlining every blade of grass. Some reverberate in puddles rippling mysterious patterns. Mapping silky, ethereal reflections. Again and again. Or aiming straight for the ground, so fertile, evaporating in the sun. Falling and melting together like it was always meant to be. Others can’ t wait to plunge towards the blue infinity. To ride on the backs of waves caressing the shores. Intertwining to dissolve into each other that nobody knows where the raindrops start and where the sea ends. Or the other way around.
allured by raindrops
petals wide open to succumb
gentle caress of breeze
Yes, it’ s raining. With the floating pace. Starting out slowly and gentle, then turning faster and harder to gain back calmness in a while. One drop after another kissing the window pane. An elusory kiss before rushing away. Like there’ s a place to reach, the place where all of those little beads of water are supposed to be. What they don’ t know is that they end up reaching each other. Or maybe they do. Maybe it’ s encoded somewhere in the essence of their being. That the meeting is inevitable. There’ s only that long “before”. Endeavouring. The path to take, the race to run or the walk to walk to reach that magical place where even time stops.
careless race down window pane
This week Carpe Diem Tan Renga inspiration is a beautiful haiku, written by our Carpe Diem host Chèvrefeuille. I haven’ t written tan renga for a while therefore this seems a good time to give it a try. Our challenge is to add a second stanza (two lines of approximately 7 syllables each) to the haiku:
mingles with the sound of rain –
a dog barks (Chèvrefeuille)
at the end of empty street
puddle filled with cherry blossoms (Ese)
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
* * *
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?
no aizejošās vasaras vien spalva
un rudens lapas zelts
A Lebanese artist, poet and writer Kahlil Gibran (Arabic: جبران خليل جبران) has been among my favourite ones for quite some time. And though “The Prophet” and “Sand And Foam” will always be the number ones from his works for me, I have the feeling today the poem “Song Of The Rain” fits the mood well. At least in these latitudes.
I am dotted silver threads dropped from heaven
By the gods. Nature then takes me, to adorn
Her fields and valleys.
I am beautiful pearls, plucked from the
Crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn
To embellish the gardens.
When I cry the hills laugh;
When I humble myself the flowers rejoice;
When I bow, all things are elated.
The field and the cloud are lovers
And between them I am a messenger of mercy.
I quench the thirst of one;
I cure the ailment of the other.
The voice of thunder declares my arrival;
The rainbow announces my departure.
I am like earthly life, which begins at
The feet of the mad elements and ends
Under the upraised wings of death.
I emerge from the heard of the sea
Soar with the breeze. When I see a field in
Need, I descend and embrace the flowers and
The trees in a million little ways.
I touch gently at the windows with my
Soft fingers, and my announcement is a
Welcome song. All can hear, but only
The sensitive can understand.
The heat in the air gives birth to me,
But in turn I kill it,
As woman overcomes man with
The strength she takes from him.
I am the sigh of the sea;
The laughter of the field;
The tears of heaven.
So with love –
Sighs from the deep sea of affection;
Laughter from the colorful field of the spirit;
Tears from the endless heaven of memories.
* * *
traced by drizzle drops
fragile iris blooms
in her kimono
* * *