The flowers have loved the rainy days during the last few weeks.  Haiku poets of old seemed to like rainy days, too.  Here are 10 haiku about rain and a few flowers today that have benefitted from it…

“The first cold showers pour.
Even the monkey seems to want
a little coat of straw.”

~ Basho

Hollyhock; Photo:KFawcett

“The sun’s way:
hollyhocks turn toward it
through all the rain of May.”

~ Basho

***

“May rains pour:
and now the frogs are swimming
at my door!”

~ Sanpu

Swallowtail; Photo:KFawcett

“The tree frogs sing:
and on the young leaves, suddenly
a raindrop-pattering.”

~ Rogetsu

Mexican Firecracker; Photo:KFawcett

“All the rains of June:
and one evening, secretly,
through the pines, the moon.”

~ Ryota

***

This is one of my favorite haiku.  I want to read the story of this letter.  Who wrote it?  Why?  Who received it?  Why did they throw it away?  Who found it?  How did it all end?  How can so much wonder come from 15 simple words?

“Rain on a spring day:
to the grove is blown a letter
someone threw away.”

~ Issa

Zinnias; Photo:KFawcett

“The thunderstorm goes by;
on one tree evening sunlight —
a cicada cry.”

~ Shiki

Butterfly bush blooms; Photo:KFawcett

“A lightning flash:
between the forest trees
I have seen water.”

~ Shiki

Lilies; Photo:KFawcett

“A prayer for rain:
‘To heaven be it echoed!’ — thus go
the beating drums.”

~Shiki

Red Petunias; Photo:KFawcett

“Night; and once again,
the while I wait for you, cold wind
turns into rain.”

~ Shiki

Yellow petunias; Photo:KFawcett

Too many places to go, things to do, people to see?  Need a sure way to relax?  Make time to take a walk in a garden and read a haiku or two.

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I buy used books.  I enjoy browsing second-hand bookstores and the bookshelves of thrift stores, but I also order used books from Amazon.  They are almost always in good condition and often contain surprises. 

I discovered in the lovely poetry collection, LIVING ON FIRE, by Virginia Hamilton Adair, that this book had been a gift to someone named Judy.  It was inscribed with “Happy Birthday!  We love you.  Lily and Alice.”  The book was in pristine condition — not a dogear or an underline or a coffee spill on a single page.  It looked as if it could be sold as new in a bookstore.  I doubt that Judy even read a single poem before donating.  I couldn’t help wondering if Lily or Alice ever asked how she liked it or which poem was her favorite and whether or not she lied or told the truth.  

In September of 2023 a woman named Diane L.  was reading Alexander McCall Smith’s THE PEPPERMINT TEA CHRONICLES, number 13 in his 44 Scotland Street series, which originally appeared in The Scotsman newspaper.  Diane was traveling from Detroit to Cancun on Spirit Airlines, presumably on holiday.  I don’t know Diane, but she left her bag claim ticket in the book.  We would likely have a lot to talk about as I assume she likes this author.  No one would start with #13 in a series without reading the first 12 books.

I bought another book in that same series from the Goodwill.  It was stamped inside: White County Regional Library System, Searcy, Arkansas.  I can never find the particular number I’m looking for at my own library, but here was a library that had given it away.  Goodwill charged $1.99, as opposed to the original price of $15.95.  It was in stellar condition. I guess the folks in Arkansas just had no interest in A TIME FOR LOVE AND TARTAN.

My copy of Willa Cather’s YOUTH AND THE BRIGHT MEDUSA has an embossed stamp: From the Library of Henry Yates.  On the title page it states in small, perfect print — “Received with subscription to The Nation, October 26, 1925.” Other than the pages being yellowed with age, the book is in excellent condition.  I suspect that whoever inherited the library of Henry Yates got rid of all the books.  

Two of my favorite haiku collections are falling apart, dogeared, and underlined.  But these are mostly my own marks after years of re-reading.  One, however, has brown stains on every page in the second half of the book, but they don’t obscure the text.  I suspect a former reader was also a tea drinker, like me, and enjoyed a haiku or two with a cup of tea.

Buy used books.  It’s a way to save money, help out a charity, and build a library.  Sometimes you even find surprises inside that give you a glimpse into a real character or two.

 

We just got back from the beach and, on this Father’s Day, I am grateful to have such good memories of spending time with my dad at the shore more than 50 years ago.  We tried to do everything in a few day’s time — crabbing, walking the beach, eating lobster and crab and shrimp every night.  New experiences.

When I was growing up my dad loved telling stories about the places he knew well — the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, the rivers and streams, the wildlife, the people.  The “regular folks” were most of the people we knew.  Born and raised in the mountains, churchgoers, generous to a fault.  The “interesting people” were those who were from somewhere else or those from home who had been somewhere else and came back to talk about it or the people who could do extraordinary things — build or fix or change something without any instruction.  Then there were the “characters,” the folks whose antics one could never forget, whether you had actually met them or not.  Characters almost always had nicknames and most of the time we never knew their real names — Shotgun, Pepsi Cola, Carbide — and there was always a great story as to how they got the name.

My dad never met a stranger.  He talked with anyone and everyone and made friends easily.  On that trip to the Eastern Shore, he was comfortable talking with strangers on the beach, in shops and restaurants, everywhere as if he had been there a million times.  It was just once.  One special memory on this Father’s Day.

Happy day to all the dads!  I hope all of you have special memories and continue making them for the next generation.

 

My mother collected plates from various places.

She brought them back from visits to her sisters in Michigan and Florida.  When my brother, sister, and I started traveling we picked up plates for Mom everywhere we went.

I pack light, like a traveler rather than a tourist, but I always saved room in my bag for a small plate or two.  From a vendor stall in Paris I found a mini plate with a two-inch tall Eiffel Tower, another in Rome with the Coliseum the size of a quarter, and a small plate with a diagram of Rothenburg, Germany, a walled city where, in those days, storks still roosted in the chimney tops.  Each plate had a story!

My brother and sister brought back plates from travels to Europe and Hawaii and various states out West.  My mom knew who gave her each plate and usually the story that went with it.

When Mom went with us to Bermuda one summer she browsed through souvenirs but ended up with another plate.  She loved the gardens on the island and finally found a plate she liked with pretty red hibiscus blooms.  The story — on that excursion a taxi driver asked how she liked staying in paradise.  My mom was friendly and polite, as always, and said simply:  This is a beautiful place but it’s NOT paradise.  In her mind, paradise was only one place and defined only in the Bible.

Human beings, or at least some of us, like to collect things.  Some people collect expensive paraphernalia they keep in locked cases to view or inside vaults that few can see or touch.  What a pity.  One wonders how much such pieces actually mean to a person.

On the other hand, meaning can be derived from the simplest things, especially if a story comes with it.  Mom enjoyed looking at her plates and talking about them; she loved her shelves of what-nots; she covered her bedroom wall with photographs.  So many stories, so many connections, came attached to her various collections.  

Perhaps this collecting bug is in the genes.  I have so many worthless “items” sitting here and there, mostly bought from street vendors or found in odd little art galleries or used bookstores in out-of-the-way places. 

They are all priceless to me.  

Just like my mom’s plates.

Just like memories.

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Photo:KFawcett

In celebration of National Poetry Month —

“Porches II”
by Virginia Hamilton Adair

“All over our U.S. the porches were dying.
The porch swing and the rocking chair moved to the village
     dump.
The floorboards trembled, and the steps creaked.
For a couple of decades a new light burned in the parlor,
the family sitting there silent in front of the box,
voices and music squawking mysteriously from far places
into the dim-lit room.  Conversation was hushed.

In the next two decades, a window in the box
flashed unbelievable pictures into the room.
Strangers guffawed and howled with laughter.
Shots rang out, people died in front of our eyes.
We learned not to care, drinking Coca-Cola from bottles,
spilling popcorn into the sofa.

A highway came past the house with its deserted porch
and no one noticed… 
No more family games or read-alouds.
Grandparents sometimes pulled their chairs outside
hoping neighbors would stop in…
still no one came, not even to borrow something…

The old porch is removed, and the grandparents with it.
So long, friends, neighbors, passersby.”

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“From what tree’s bloom
it comes, I do not know,
but — this perfume!”

~ Basho

On my morning walk I suddenly caught the scent of new bloom.  It was puzzling at first as the trees and bushes and flowers on this walk are all familiar to me and none of them are known for having a scent.  Then I spotted the wild vines growing up through the branches of a nearby tree — honeysuckle!

Honeysuckle; Photo:KFawcett

Honeysuckle; Photo:KFawcett

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Lilac Bush; Photo:KFawcett

“…your music springs
from the soul of birds,
from the eyes of God,
from perfect passion.”

~ from “Trees” by Federico Garcia Lorca

“Let us move together through the rest of this day passing in unison from light to shadow.” ~ Billy Collins

Cherry blossoms, blue skies; Photo:K.Fawcett

“Wherever you are it is your friends who make your world.”  ~ William James

daffodils; Photo:KFawcett

“Go confidently in the direction of your dreams.  Live the life you have imagined.”  ~ Henry David Thoreau

Pink dogwood; Photo:KFawcett

“Remembered landscapes are left in me
the way a bee leaves its sting…”

~Charles Wright, Appalachia

 

Magnolia; Photo:KFawcett

“…and minutes fell like leaves,
fibers of broken time
little black feathers.”

~ from “Ode to a Watch in the Night” by Pablo Neruda

“One’s destination is never a place but a new way of looking at things.”  ~ Henry Miller

Forsythia; Photo:KFawcett

“I’d rather learn from one bird how not to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.”

~ ee cummings

Chinese Snowball Vibernum; Photo:KFawcett

“Let the world go.  Holding it
we never know ourselves, never are air-born.”

~ Rumi

**

“Every note leaves in each of us a memory,
but it is the melody as a whole that tells a story.”
~ Paulo Coelho

Almond bush; Photo:KFawcett

 

“…what matters in life are those things contained in moments as fleeting as lightning.”  ~ Elena Santiago

Apple blossom; Photo:KFawcett

“…what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” 

~ Mary Oliver

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Happy Easter/Happy Spring…

 

Apple blossoms; Photo:KFawcett

“Blossoms on the branch—
the wind passes, yet they hold
like memories do.”

~ Bashō

Can you count the times you’ve felt this way?

“I was here before, a long time ago,
and now I am here again
is an observation that occurs in poetry
as frequently as rain occurs in life.

The fellow may be gazing 
over an English landscape,
hillsides dotted with sheep
a row of tall trees topping the downs,

or he could be moping through the shadows
of a dark Bavarian forest, 
a wedge of cheese and a volume of fairy tales
tucked into his rucksack.

But the feeling is always the same.
It was better the first time…

Something is always missing — “

~ Billy Collins, “Lines Composed Over Three Thousand Miles from Tintern Abbey”

Billy Collins writes lovely poems.  Perfect gems.  Wise, funny, brilliant.  Heartbreaking and surprising.  I suspect everyone has first-time experiences that they can never seem to duplicate.  I’ve felt this numerous times in traveling.  The first time seeing a new place, attending a festival, tasting exotic food, making new friends, etc. is difficult to relive.  Memories are powerful and reality has a hard time competing.

First sunrise, Cayman Brac; Photo:KFawcett

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Have a great weekend.  Add a “first time” — try something new!

 

 

“Seeming as though
this must be the last of it —
so much spring snow!”

~ Issa

It’s not yet spring, but I do hope we have seen the last of the snow.  How about a bunch of winter blooms from the Cayman Islands.  Think flowers!  Think spring!

Hibiscus, Cayman Islands; Photo:KFawcett

Tulip Tree, Cayman Islands; Photo:KFawcett

Yellow flowers in the rain, Cayman Islands; Photo:KFawcett

Blue sky, sea, and blooms, Cayman Islands; Photo:KFawcett

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