Click on any photo to enlarge all and view as slide series.
Ubiquitous networks of highways crisscross the face of Mother Earth–lines that age her fresh face. Pockmarks of potholes question their durability, whereas Earth lives on, in one form or another.
Dams crack and spill their water freshly across lake beds parched for centuries. Bones of dinosaurs peek out from eroded banks of clay. Plants spread from potholes in gouged pavement. Somewhere in the arctic ice, the past lies thawing, ready to be reborn.
Who knows but that the nightfall of mankind may be a new world’s morning?
I don’t know what I did this week. I seem to have collected prompts from a different week for each prompt site. Perhaps I’ve been at it too long and should retire. The prompt words I somehow collected were highway, durable, ubiquitous and morning. The form is for dVerse Poets haibun challenge.
Darn! I now find even the comments and Mr. Linky for dVerse are closed, even though they say they are open all week. I guess this just isn’t my day, or I am as cracked as the pavement above…..Here are the “wrong” links I used:
This year the rains came early, starting the day after the men came to begin stripping and resurfacing my roofs. The day after they were supposed to remove the skylight, hurricane-force winds and torrential rains made me glad for once, that they had been no-shows. A month later, the repairs are over and we’ve settled into the daily or nightly showers. I am snug in my house and the mountains behind me are covered with a vivid green. Soon water will be shooting in rivers down the arroyos and cobblestone roads that lead down to the lake from my house and every teja will serve as its own channel for individual rios streaming down from my roof into waterfalls that will arc down to the terrace tiles below.
The rainy season
breaks its usual habit.
A rude early guest.
Love the haibun by my friend Dianne. She doesn’t have a blog so wanted to insure this poem got the attention it deserves:
At 2 a.m. this morning son Jacob delivered us from the airport to our dark yard. Grateful to see no snow gleaming in the gloom, we staggered inside, even more grateful for the heat of the kitchen wood stove. Our three day return trip from the sunny hot Pacific coast of Mexico, our 2nd home for seven years, featured a snowstorm hello as our plane broke through the cloud to land in Calgary. While we’re mostly glad to be home on PEI, the sounds of silence are deafening. No morning wake-up calls from chachalachas, lorikeets, and doves. But this afternoon a sound surprised our ears—the wind howling.
Bathing suits blow on
Bare forsythia branches
We await their bloom
I awaken to the insistent music of the morning. The cacophony of bird voices is disrupted by the squeaking of gears of the gravel truck climbing the mountain road past my house. Steam rises from the hot pool echoing the venting of Colima volcano, peeking over the shoulder of the mountain known as Señor Garcia. He has on his cloud sombrero today, which promises rain.
Crisp air of morning.
Mournful chorus of dog howls
echoes siren’s wail.
The NaPoWriMo prompt today is to write a haibun that takes in the natural landscape of the place you live. The WordPress Daily Prompt is disrupt.
I really started blogging exactly five years ago today, when I wrote my first NaPoWriMo poem, having little faith in my ability to make it for the whole thirty days.
In the end, day-by-day, I did it. A year later, I did it again and when I came to day 30, I didn’t stop. Since then I’ve exercised a different sort of faith by writing every morning—doing a number of writing and photo posts, including at least one poem or story, every day for the past 1,460 days. (This post will be my 4,074th one.)
The pool exercises I once did faithfully in a water aerobics class three mornings a week at the clubhouse pool, I still do at midnight in my own pool under the stars and moon, surrounded by the blossoms that fall from the tall Washingtonian palm trees that rise like giants in the night air above the pool.
I swim with the moon, stars strewn like wedding flowers in this midnight pool.
Every situation, every human relationship contains a number of possibilities. No person could guess them all. When we are too hasty in our judgements and our reactions, we cut ourselves off from all of those potential realities.
Your face a closed bud hiding what might have flowered had I been your sun.