‘Pared down to its barest essence, wabi-sabi is the Japanese art of finding beauty in imperfection and profundity in nature, of accepting the natural cycle of growth, decay, and death.’ ~ Japanese Architect, Tadao Ando
Today’s solar eclipse was only partial in Ontario, Canada. I was outside tuning into any changes around me and wrote two small poems (tanka and haiku):
to evening grey
I dare not look as
dark moon clips the sun
earth and sister moon
Some of you will remember the Pink Floyd album Dark Side of the Moon (1973). This video of the song ‘Eclipse’ shows the moon moving across the sun and if you last to the end, there is an interesting conclusion.
Responding to Ontheroadprompts: “For this week’s prompt let the life and work of Hisajo inspire your creative explorations of haiku and related forms.” Hisajo is a Japanese poet of the early 20th century (1890-1946). To read about her life and writing visit Suzanne’s post at the link above. Her essay includes the following quote and haiku which I found particularly inspiring:
I would like to make a haiku out of what touches my life, what my eyes see, ears hear, what my heart speaks to myself in a strong voice… I want to sketch things that left an impression in the depth of my soul.“
—From aLetter Written In Daybreak, 1922 by Sugito Hisajo
When I first ventured into vegetable gardening I was guided by books. Each step felt tenuous, like treading in the dark. My guide was a carefully drawn plan, each square foot measured, each seed accounted for. With time I relaxed. I learned that seeds grow and that I only need to provide water and shelter.
A few years have passed and now what joy! Borage, calendula, dill, sorrel and chives return on their own to resculpt the landscape. This spring, rabbits devoured the first shoots of sunflowers and greens…so I raised the height of the wire fence, used a large removeable barrel to block the entrance, and planted more seeds. I still make annual plans—plant families rotate from year to year and companions are placed side by side. Beyond my winter dreaming the real garden emerges in a flow of call and response.