I tried to write some haiku while I was on my Oregon holiday, but my brain seemed to want to turn off and just enjoy. This is all I came up with:

particles of sand

fly like a swarm of insects

nipping at my skin

My husband, daughter and I just got back from a week on the Oregon coast. We had a wonderful time, and I couldn’t resist sharing some of my favourite photos from the trip (please ignore the tipping horizons):

Before the fireworks, July 4, Long Beach, Washington

Looking down on Cannon Beach from Ecola Park (I think)

Wind-blown sand on the beach near Seal Rock, Oregon (we stayed in a cottage near here)

One day we walked about 2-3 miles down the beach to these volcanic rocks and tidal pools

My daughter rescued this star fish, which was buried in the sand, and released it on a tidal pool rock

Yaquina Head lighthouse in the fog (I’ve had a lighthouse story brewing in the back of my mind for a few years, and my inspiration was renewed as I climbed up the 110 steps of the lighthouse tower)

My daughter loves the ocean and the sand

Me trying to climb a sand dune south of Florence Oregon (it was higher and steeper than it looks!)

We were lucky to have at least one evening when the fog cleared enough for us to see the sunset

My daughter and I spent this past weekend on Vancouver Island and took the ferry back to the mainland late Sunday afternoon. As we sailed south from Nanaimo to Tswassen we travelled in sunshine, but the ocean was an eerie pale green around us, and the mainland was hidden by a wall of black, sliced periodically by lightning. My husband phoned from somewhere in the middle of the blackness to say he’d be late picking us up at the ferry terminal, as he was waiting for a thunder, lightning and hail storm to ease off.

As we neared the ferry terminal, the captain announced a pod of orcas off the port side of the ship. They were too far away to see clearly, but we could make out dorsal fins breaking the surface. Once we were off the ship and my husband had picked us up, we drove in bright sunshine, obviously just behind the retreating storm. The road was still wet, a bald eagle sat on top a lamp post above the road, drying its wings, and we also passed several hawks doing the same.

We took our time getting home, and arrived just in front of another approaching shower. Even though the hail storm had been over for almost three hours, and the sun had been out, there was still unmelted hail on the roof nextdoor (looking like unseasonable snow), and the air was cold. (Sorry, I’m sure you’d rather have seen a photo of the orcas than my neighbour’s old mossy roof.)

The second shower passed, and a double rainbow filled the sky.

To top off the wierd weather, parts of the Okanagan (normally the hottest spot in BC during the summer) had actual snow Sunday night! (the cold lower mainland storm must have hit there next).

Check out Brainripples for a rain storm inspired haiku story (which you can add to).

Haiku traditionally begins with a seasonal reference. This goes back to old Japan when haiku was part of a party game. The host often started off the game by poviding the opening stanza (called hokku), and the guests took turns adding stanzas to create a longer linked poem (known as renga). The seasonal reference in the opening line was a way of dating the poem (or at least letting people know in which season it was written). The party poets took their renga seriously, and eventually a book of rules was created, which included lists of objects (mostly plants and animals) associated with each season. The opening hokku written at parties was often more popular and better remembered than the rest of the renga, and eventually it became an independant poetry form called haiku.

My list of seasonal objects for June would have to include cottonwood seed fluffs (first one or two, then hundreds float through the air and collect like snow along roadside curbs), mock orange blossoms (the bush in the photo above started as an unidentifiable bare stick that I almost pulled out of the ground), and shedding dog hair (our dog, Dylan, sheds so much that we’d be knee-deep in dog hair if I didn’t vacuume every day).

first cottonwood fluff

drifting over my backyard

summer I was twelve

white dome of flowers

as tall as the neighbour’s house

began as a weed

white flower beacons

glow as the evening light fades

calling out with scent

fur falls to the floor

as I scratch my dog’s backside

it doesn’t matter

I like the way people in Japan celebrate cherry blossoms. Families and friends gather under the flowering trees to stroll, take photos, admire the blossoms and picnic (it is not all quiet and contemplation, though, as there is often a lot of alcohol and the occassional portable karaoke machine).

Cherry blossom viewing has its own term, hanami. A variation of hanami is yozakura, night-time viewing. People hold parties under the trees at night, and many a haiku has been written about cherry blossoms in the moonlight. In the old days, lanterns and torches would have been added to shine light on the blossoms. Today, people bring portable generators to power spot lights. People eat, drink and talk and occassionally look up and comment on the beauty of the blossoms. The short lifespan of the flowers makes the occassion particularly special.

Celebrating the blossoms here in Canada is mostly a solitary activity (though I’m happy to say, the Vancouver Cherry Blossom Festival is working to make it more a part of our culture — at least here in the lower mainland). For now, I celebrate by going for extra walks down streets lined with blossoming trees and paying visits to my favourite trees. It’s hard to hold a party under the blossoms when most of the flowering trees are along streets, but just standing under them is a party for the senses.

I took the above photos the last week in March, then on April 1st and 2nd, it snowed (like nature was playing an April Fool’s joke), prompting this haiku:

snow on pink blossoms

winter, reluctant to leave

turns for one last kiss

Now, only four days later, it’s as warm as summer, and people are wearing shorts and t-shirts. It wont last, but I think it’s finally safe to say Good-bye Winter!

Vancouver Cherry Blossom site:

http://www.vancouvercherryblossomfestival.com/

scent of blossoms

lures me down one more street

lightens my feet

first sunny weekend

for once the crows are silent

beaks full of nest twigs

sunlit seagulls sail

across a blue sea of sky

beacons of light

About noon today I decided to take a break from writing and go out for a Starbucks hot chocolate. I just missed the bus, which was frustrating, and had to walk to the Skytrain. Half way there, I looked up to see a bald eagle circling low in the blue sky (yes, blue sky, not gray and rainy). The eagle continued to circle above me the whole rest of my walk. Eagle sightings always feel significant — like you’ve been honored by their presence or they’re markers of something important that’s happening or about to happen…. At the very least, they remind us to pay attention…. And if I hadn’t missed the bus, I would have missed this one.

picking up garbage

in my yard, I discover

first blooming snow drops

Although I’ve confessed to liking birthdays, what I don’t like about getting old is the memory potholes. You know, you walk into a room and forget what it was you went in there to do, you forget the name of someone you work with, etc.

The other day, I went all the way to the downtown library to pick up a book I’d placed on hold. I got to the library, dropped off some books I’d finished with, found a chair to sit down and jot some notes about the next scene in my story, which I’d been thinking about on the way to the library, then I left. I got all the way home before realizing I hadn’t picked up the hold book. (Ironically, the book I forgot to pick up was “The Memory Keeper’s Daughter” by Kim Edwards)

But I did take these photos by the Stadium Skytrain station. I liked the juxtaposition of the living trees against the built walls, but also the way the walls have a kind of organic look with their layers and colours, and the tree with the peeling bark has the look of a wall covered with peeling advertising posters.

My dog, Dylan, usually goes to work with my husband, but today my husband went to a meeting and couldn’t take him. So, when I walked my daughter to school, the dog came too. Dylan, a blond Lab-cross adopted from the local animal shelter, knows the streets of our neighbourhood and knows his mind. After saying goodbye to my daughter, I turned to head home, and Dylan turned purposefully in the opposite direction. I gave in.

As we walked, I watched birds and composed haiku (sorry, couldn’t help myself). Dylan, interested only in checking out the various odours along the way, didn’t care at all about the birds (even when a Northern Flicker flew up right in front of his nose).

The dog:

The haiku:

new snow softly falls

black crow glides over white field

— silent watcher

in the middle of snow

crow sits in bare-branched tree

centre of the world

on our snow walk

my dog and I, in two worlds

mine sight, his smell