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).

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/

How many wind storms can we have in one winter? Right now, the trees in my yard are dipping and dancing, and a rolling current of crows just flowed over the neighbourhood rooftops like snowboarders over a mountain.

The crows do seem to be enjoying themselves, but the dancing frenzy of the trees is getting me nervous. I should probably get off the computer before a branch falls on the power lines again.

To be honest, what I really need to do is get off the internet and get to work on my current story. I have a deadline looming, and I’m not as far along in the writing as I’d like to be. I need to stay away from internet distractions (and the urge to write crow and wind haiku) until I get a serious chunk of writing done.

I’ll leave you with two hints about the story I’m working on:

1. I found out last spring that there are crows in Japan (really big crows).

2. The oldest comic, or manga, in Japan is said to be the 12th century Choju jinbutsu giga (Frolicking Animals and Figures Scrolls).

(crow in Ueno Park, Tokyo, Spring 2006)

Our snow is now gone, and we’re back to the usual rain (plus this not so usual wind). The haiku mood seems to be hanging on.

Outside Metrotown mall:

 dancing yellow leaves

chase each other in circles

across the pavement

Walking home from the skytrain:

above me, crows swoop

when wind lifts my shopping bags

I almost fly, too

Check the comments under the “flurry of haiku” post for more haiku.

Until recently, I hadn’t written any poetry for quite awhile. Then we got this sudden cold and snow, which I am totally not used to, and almost every time I looked out the window or stepped out the door, I was struck by a haiku moment.

On one of the coldest nights, my dog went outside for a quick visit to the backyard. When I opened the door to let him back in, I stood for a moment, caught by the smell of the cold, the closeness of the sky, the breath of the house billowing out into the night…. lines of haiku began to form and reform in my mind, so that I had a hard time getting to sleep after that.

sharp scent of cold air

clouds drift out the open door

absorbed by stillness

gathering close

pale sky touches white trees

hushed in snow

And from the next day:

icicles drip

decorating eaves troughs

warmed by house breath

during the cold snap

rats take refuge in my attic

the cat’s ears twitch

Haiku is supposed to contain 17 syllables in lines of 5-7-5, but I don’t think it matters if you follow that exactly. What matters is the moment shared. Anyone else care to share a moment?

In my November 29 post, “haiku snapshot,” I included a poem about a crow:

black shape on white snow

fathomless as a deep hole

until the crow caws

In the comments, my friend Jean-Pierre, who has lived in Japan for over 15 years, translated my haiku into Japanese:

Yuki ni yurei

 Fukai ana soko nashi

 Karasu naku

When he translated it back to English again, it came out:

Ghost in the snow

Deep hole no bottom

Crow cries

creating a totally different poem. Check out Jean-Pierre’s comment for more details about the translation process.

I was going to write more about crows, but I have to say something about the snow. Yes, snow in November on the westcoast. Last night I was down on Robson street, and people were sitting outside at restaurants and coffee shops (the usual for a Vancouver night). By the time I walked home from the Skytrain, this is what I saw.

This morning, I woke up to a world transformed. Whenever I look at an expanse of untouched snow, I’m always hesitant to make the first footprints. The white surface is like a new canvas ready for paint or the first page of a new journal (or a new blog) waiting for words. As long as it remains white and untouched, anything is possible. Make the first mark, take the first step, and you’re committed to a direction, a pattern. But wait just a few minutes longer, hold your breath, imagine the hidden potential waiting under the snow….. For those few moments, all possibilities exist. Anything can happen.