A haibun for dverse ‘tree buds’ prompt.
Last autumn, the neighbour dug a great hole in the field next to ours, next to the sheep field and the orchard. The hole, to form a natural pond, filled with water from the rising water table, the winter rains and the run-off from the ditches round the fields. Since last week, a pair of ducks have taken up residence, probably looking for surroundings quieter than the big ponds round about, with their noisy colonies of cormorants, egrets and other water fowl.
The trees are full of birdlife, and the grass swarms with rodents, drawing the raptors, the kestrels and buzzards and even our fat, lazy house cats. Already the cherry blossom has fallen and the plum blossom is ready to open. Leaf buds swell on vine and lilac. Ditches run with sparkling rainwater and the toads sing when they think they are alone. So much life, so quick the change—spring.
beneath spring clouds.
Rain falls soft—greening.
For Ronovan’s haiku challenge.
Spring secrets, burst buds,
hardened ’gainst the winter frost,
sun too pale to burn.
Ronovan’s challenge words this week are Tight & Warm. Good spring words.
photo ©Bijay chaurasia
Buds, wound up coiled springs
tight fists of green life, stay warm
until the sun calls.
Tightly wrapped baby
swaddled against the winter
sweet warm milky breath.
Tight furled the new leaves
west wind ruffles warm feathers
spring rides the rain clouds.
Sometimes it takes very little to change mood, outlook, morale. Sometimes just a few degrees of temperature will do it. Today was not just warm as a summer’s day, there was a sense of release, as if at last there was no more fear of getting cold, getting wet, or having the umbrella destroyed in a gale.
I don’t know whether it goes back to an ancestral fear of the ‘dark’ season, when nothing grows, when animals die of cold and hunger, and babies and old people give up the struggle to keep alive that keeps us tense and irritable as long as the bad weather lasts. The spring, the change in the air, the birdsong is a sign that the winter is coming to an end, though the season is fickle, and hail and snow showers can bring down the early buds, and nobody risks going out without a coat.
But, all of a sudden, there is a stillness in the morning air, a warmth that grows until it is too hot to sit in the sun. Suddenly the breeze is warm and full of the scent of flowers. Then we let out a long sigh of relief. We throw caution to the winds, and the windows open to the soft breeze. We set the table outside, and sit long into the evening with a glass of wine or cup of coffee listening to the birds.
The streets, the parks and the promenades fill with people simply marvelling at the blue sky and the green that is covering the dry winter twigs. The scent of cut grass and wisteria fill the air, and the chore of watering the garden plants begins. A taste of summer.
Today was like that.