Spring haibun

They were chopping plum trees down in an orchard by the river, all in full blossom. Disease perhaps, but the sight was shocking. Veiled in white, old trees falling, the orange wound of the stumps harsh against the black bark. Can such beauty be sick? In the distance, towards the flat silver band of the river, a tractor churned the brown earth. The sky was blue except for the dark circling of kites. Silent as death.
Spring unfurls green
winter white a memory
wind-tossed petals.

Almost equinox

Almost equinox

The day
the pale grey light
uncertain

as I am

which way to go
into the bright blue blaze of spring
or wrapped in rain?

In the meadow
feet tread mud
despite the golden suns

yet blackbirds sing
jays fuss and squabble
and slowly the leaves unfurl.

A day of a million things

So much rain
in millions and millions of drops
we see it fall from far
drifting in veils silver-grey
from shifting clouds
grey as rain in veils
of millions and millions of drops

tree sticks stare
waiting for wind
waiting for sun showers
bud-burst leaping from bough to bough
and the unfurling of the leaves
in millions and millions of banners
veils of green

and the thick air rings
with the belling sound
of returning cranes
and the beating wings
of millions and millions of feathers
a veil of grey
dappled with white hope.

Bee orchids

• 

Grass broidered
and purple-beed
beneath a true golden sun

the season turns
to humming and trilling
fluting whistling

and the trees sway
leaf-lilting gently

great green ships
on a rich sea.

Bee-loud

• 

So loud
the sound
of bees in the mimosa tree

so sweet
the scent
of honey falling

beneath
a sky
of chasing clouds

and sun
that never
quite fires
the petals of this rose.

Rain drops

It has rained and the stove
glows to charm the sun
tomorrow perhaps

while the hedge drips
where the nightingale charms
the night with drops of sun.

Spring sprigging

blossom stripped
like the day after the wedding
but oh the dandelions
sprigging the green with gold

spring bowls along
in blue-sky clouds
sails trimmed to the wind

First geese

The old man said
watch the sky
for the spring will come
on wings.

Today they came
the first geese battalion
joy in their basso profondo
flying so low
the setting sun in the delicate colours
of their feathered fuselage.

Godspeed, I shouted
waved
exulting
in their gentle majesty.

Spring cycle

The days pass
rain-filtered
dripping from unlit sky
seeping back into the sucking mud
to rise tomorrow and tomorrow
in brown pools
of spent seasons.

A spring wish

daffodil days
lemon-sunned beneath dapples
bird-quiet
rippled with water songs
and the sky pale as a new egg

I can taste the turning
in the wind-whisper
riffling soft through the drifts
of last year’s sorrows
letting them fly