OSI: Gift

Sunlight falling
golden on the forest floor
though autumn leaves.


-----------------


Another gift, not in poem form, is advise I was given once by my dad on a day where everything seemed to be going wrong. In my dispair, I blurted out 'it can't get any worse!'

His advice?

'Oh yes, it can.'

It held me in check this last weekend when a pipe burst in our bathroom and flooded it, half our bedroom and the living room. And then later in the day we noticed one pupil in our son's eye was more dialated than the other, and off we all rushed to accident/emergency.

That was Sat. Sunday saw a lving room with flagstone flooring that seems to have survived Niagra Falls tumbling onto it and our son seems to be well in himself and to just have odd eyes.

Hopefully, all's well that ends well, as they say.

Thanks dad, I love you.

OSI: Never Ending

The love of a mother,
the dance of cranes,
the sun's rising,
the howl in the night,
the courage of a horse,
the blaze of a maple,
the silence of snow.

All these and more
a glimpse of God.

Photo Friday

Autumn is here again....and we never had summer over here....

Fleeting

on water
a friend looks back
no more

Photo Friday

Done when I still knew where my little plastic fisheye was. :-(

One Single Impression--Autumn

in the crisp air
the cry of geese on high
frost dancing on glass

Fiction Friday--toy

They found the boy wild in the wood. He was naked and mute. The rummor that he was with wolves melted into the forest much like the creatures themselves.

The natives had long told of the boy. Only now had some learned men come, to capture him for study. No one asked him if he wanted a life of domesticity; no one asked him what he thought of men's clothes, men's food, or men's ways.

The learned men thought him an extraordinary discovery, a blank slate in which they could inflict their scientific studies. They were from the culture of the enlightenment, after all. In their supiority they never thought to feel for the boy. He was triply cursed; an Indian, a feral child and not even raised by his own kind.

They took him to a house in their town. One room was to be his own, one was for their experiments. In one corner of his room stood his only companion, a dappled rocking horse.

In their own time the boy and the horse talked. Of course the men would say he was incapable of language and the rocking horse was only a toy. But, they weren't the boy and they weren't the horse. The boy told the horse of his life with the wolves, of being free; his former life. The horse told the boy of a life imagined, a life of freedom.

At night, when finially left alone, they dreamed. And in their dreams they were free.

One Single Impression--defenses down

Standing naked
waiting your approval
hoping
you like what you see
hoping
you love me.

Pen Me a Poem--Hurricane

a trickle
on the dessert
birth
of the hurricane

Haibun for Fiction Friday

Mt Koya was cold. So cold it froze
the offerings to the Gods.
The Gods were so cold they knew nothing of
the suffering of the monks.

In the shadow the monks lived, in the
coldest corner of the coldest mountain of Japan.
This knowledge came to Akira the morning
he found the tofu offering frozen dried to the alter.

Akira watched the cranes fly through the sky
of ice, as white as the peak of the mountain.
At night he dreamed and in his dreams he became
one of the birds of heaven.
And he flew someplace warm.

The dream would end the moment the cold crept into
the plain room where he slept. It curled around
his toes, and his fingers. It nipped his slender
nose and kissed his eyelashes.
And he knew that Koya-san had caught him back again.

Frozen deep
in the heart of the mountain
dreams.