Haiku 16

— Liz Garton Scanlon
    4/16/2009

Well.
I wrote haiku yesterday but never got around to posting any of them.
It was that kind of day.

So, this post is actually Wednesday’s — if you’re okay with that.
Thursday’s will follow a bit later.
(Think of it as my own personal brand of time travel…)

This week, I’ve been writing some human-nature inspired haiku (often called senryu) as opposed to the more naturey-nature ones…

Monday I had a school visit, which always brings me face-to-face with a slew of vivid and uninhibited little selves. 
And then, of course, I have a couple of those vivid selves in-house. 

My Small One has been in speech therapy for a couple of months now — her r’s are w’s and she’s also got a bit of a lisp. It’s particularly cute, if you ask me, because she’s wildly smart and funny and articulate, so to hear her wide-ranging vocabulary in her not-yet-full-grown voice just about slays me.

But lately what’s getting to me is how hard she’s willing to try to kick these habits. Turns out it is not at all easy. She’s been talking like this for seven years and now she’s got to start anew and darn if she isn’t just soldiering on. Which is how we get to the next level, isn’t it? Plugging away on each little, tiny step.

Or r, as the case may be.

Haiku 15

— Liz Garton Scanlon
    4/15/09

Most of the subterranean messages I receive these days seem to be about slowin’ it down.

For example, I’ve chosen to live out my professional life in a field where every single step takes weeks instead of days, years instead of months.

Also, when I stop hurrying I seem to arrive places on time. (Go figure that one…)

And, my dog is fourteen.

Walking her is no longer an athletic event.
Walking her is a tender, limpy meditation of love.

I am reminded, when I walk with her, how much there is to notice — in my writing, in my relationships, in the world — if I take off the headphones and slow the speedwalk down to a saunter. Literally and figuratively, if you know what I mean…

Haiku 14

Many, many birds migrate through central Texas this time of year.
It’s rather a riot of noise and color.

I can only identify a few birds by sight, so I appreciate them with a sort of happy ignorance.
I don’t know them by name, but am awfully glad to see them again…

Within the past 14 months, we’ve pretty much destroyed our own personal landscape (save for the oaks and pecans) — between submitting to a brutal drought and undergoing an endless remodel that allowed wheelbarrows, plywood and sawhorses to lay waste to what was previously grass.

What amazed and delighted me today was the realization that the birds don’t care.
We remain on their flight path and they seem glad for it…

Haiku 13

— Liz Garton Scanlon
    04/13/2009

Haiku 12

—Liz Garton Scanlon
    4/12/09

— Liz Garton Scanlon
    4/11/09

I had in mind today to post about the requirements of haiku.

There are rules with which I’m working when I sit down to what has essentially become a purely meditative practice in just ten days, parameters I keep in mind even as I am working on a purely sensual level.

I was going to write about those today (which, if I’m honest, is already yesterday).
But the girls had the day off of school and there were eggs to be dyed.
I was lucky to get my haiku penned and a load of laundry done.

So, the rules and regulations can wait.
Or I’ll bet you can find them elsewhere, written by people who are good with rules and regulations.
Me? Not so much…

Haiku 10

— Liz Garton Scanlon
   4/10/2009

My daughter got an ant farm for her birthday.
It’s kind of a futuristic tank of blue gel that apparently provides the ants all they need
in terms of habitat, food and drink. It took us awhile to get around to ordering the ants so, even though her birthday was in February, my daughter just received them yesterday.

30 great big female Harvesters in a little vial in a mailing envelope. Raring to go.

The directions that come with the ant farm make it sound like no biggie to tip ’em into the tank.

Well.
Not so at our house.

Two promptly escaped.
I got one back in right away.
The other was a trickster.
Lots of quick fakes and unpredictable moves.

Both my girl and I were chasing it all over the dining room table and, in the process,
she
knocked
over
the entire
farm.

And the lid was not on tight.
And the ants took off.

My daughter cried.
The ants scattered.
I tried very hard not to swear.

Within ten minutes, most of them were back in their blue gel.
A few perished.
And my girl and I had both been stung.

Which really, really hurts.

Because, it turns out:

"Some reports indicate that harvester ant venom is the most toxic of all insect venoms to mammals."

And:

"The harvester’s painful sting has been ranked in scientific publications as worse than all but a few North American insects."
 

Sheesh!

We were each stung on the hand but it hurt all the way up our arms.
I was just waiting for breathing constriction or hives.
Not a very pleasant way to get acquainted with our new friends.

My husband wonders if we should try black mambas next.
Or maybe piranhas.

But, trauma aside, there were the ants, safe in their tank as we went to bed last night, our lymph nodes still thrumming.
And this morning, they had already tunneled way down.
Built a hill.
Settled in.

I found it kind of amazing, in spite of myself.

Haiku 9

— Liz Garton Scanlon
    4/09/2009

It’s spring in Central Texas.
CSA season.
Our farm o’ choice is Tecolote, baby and brainchild of Katie and David Pitre.

We’ve been subscribers for many years now and there is nothing like a bushel basket of their fresh and organic veggies to put a little pink in all our cheeks after the cold-and-dry spell we call winter down here…

This morning, the bounty that arrived at my front door just about had me swooning — and I hadn’t even eaten any of it yet!
Needless to say, I found it worthy of haiku…

Haiku 8

— Liz Garton Scanlon
    4/08/2009

This month, I’m getting up very early a couple of days a week to do a bootcamp
with some girlfriends.
Even earlier than my usual run schedule.
It’s pitch black out and I’m sleepy and the reward is deep squats with a medicine ball.

I know.
It kinda makes you wonder.

But this morning, hanging over everything, was the moon.
Lopsided and heavy.
All bright and muse-like.
Had I slept another hour-and-a-half, I wouldn’t have seen it at all.

And that’s what I’ll try to remember at about three this afternoon when I’m in sorry need of a nap.
Each moment holds something to see if you’re there for it…

Haiku 7