the grass has gone blonde (and died), the trees are hanging down and the black earth is cracking open. it’s been a month and half. we hate the weather guy but look one-eyed for his divination of chook guts, of fish guts. the map is vivid with ochres and vermillion (again). his hands cross the isobars — see here, a chance of rain but by evening we curse his name and all his type, spit into the dust. Vladimir and Estragon are pushing a shopping cart up a hill the wind ever against them — this way Didi. no this way. the dark comes soon enough and we incline to the sound of birds flapping in the dog’s water, Olive’s cough and stones on the roof.
the autumn wind brings
the ringing of the mattock
‘gainst the frozen ground
Haibun on ‘an early frost’ (kinda) for Dverse where Victoria is hosting. And here’s Waiting for Godot – for some autumnal absurdity.
“Vladimir and Estragon are pushing a shopping cart up a hill” – oh man, that is so great.
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A riveting tale! I love the line about hating the weatherman!
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You’ve created such a great sense of place in this tongue-in-cheek first frost. Wouldn’t you hate to be a weatherman? Going to check out Godot, now.
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Oh we do hate the weatherman… the menace of the harbinger… the pushing of the shopping cart brings back a thought of autumn being Sisyphean
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It will be harder to dig as the ground freezes. I don’t remember cursing the weather man, but I can see how some might want to do that or be glad when the predictions don’t happen as predicted.
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Interesting haibun. Swinging a mattock against the frozen ground is hard work.
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This is embroidery; stitches going in here, in there, slipping in and out of one thought, one location, straight into another to form an image. You’re very clever, Peter.
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Thank you so much. The appreciation is mutual 😀
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I like the grass gone blonde and those two pushing shopping cart…smiles.
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thanx fr link to WFG, my favorite bed time reading, keeps me sane (!) dig yr blog
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Glad you liked it. Cheers
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