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

A friend got me hooked on this Eagle Cam, which is live streaming video of a bald eagle mama and her partner, nesting in New Jersey.

Often, the mama just sits there, acting like a hot water bottle, but every so often her guy comes by and they stand and chat for a bit. Yesterday she undertook a sort of rolfing activity, rolling her heavy breast over the eggs with vigor.

So maybe it’s no wonder that this morning, one of the three eggs hatched!
I didn’t witness it happening, but soon after, the mama stood up and there was her eaglet — fuzzy and bright.
The other two eggs, apparently, need a bit more massage before revealing their treasures.

I hope it doesn’t mess with my mission (to use haiku to interact with the actual) if my subject today is a couple thousand miles away and I’m only there via web cam. Somehow it feels very up close and personal to me…

Haiku 6

Haiku 5

— Liz Garton Scanlon
   4/5/2009

Haiku 4

Turning forty-two —
new leaves gleam against the sky,
broad branches hold it

— Liz Garton Scanlon
   4/4/2009

What a strange thing!
to be alive
beneath cherry blossoms.

— Issa

Lighting one candle
with another candle —
spring evening.

— Bason

A cicada shell;
it sang itself
utterly away.

— Basho

When I got married, one of my sisters-in-law gave me a book of haiku — Hass’ The Essential Haiku —
as a gift, the day before the wedding.
At the time, I thought it was a lovely gesture.
Something like being given a flower that would last awhile.

But recently I’ve thought about how appropriate it was as a message, a symbol.

When we make families there is something very pure at the center of the implulse.
Something simple.
Like love.

But the reality is that life instantly becomes a whole lot more complicated.
Decisions that previously might have been singular must now be weighed and shared.
Where there was previously one family, now there are two.
(Or rather, three, if you count the newly formed one.
Which, considering the occasion, I guess you ought to.)
And, sometimes, the transition is quickly followed by others (like home ownership… like parenthood)
that come bearing big responsibilities.

So, haiku on the eve of marriage says, "Don’t forget to clear away all the overwhelm sometimes. To notice the cherry blossoms and cicadas. To light the candles." Haiku says that on the eve of marriage, the morning of a meeting, the Friday afternoon of a very long week. Don’t you think?

Haiku 3

— Liz Garton Scanlon
   4/3/2009