mid-season travels ~ Troiku

Image may contain: tree, sky, bird, plant, outdoor and nature

squirrels scurry
birds halfway to southern plains
wish I were a bird

squirrels scurry
stopping to munch
and tease indoor cats

birds halfway to southern plains
balmy weather welcomes
feathered friends

wish I were a bird
soaring over lakes and meadows
poop on pedophiles

© Tournesol 2019/11/09

Image may contain: cat and outdoor

 

First snowfall – Daily Moments – Troibun

A disturbing nudge on her shoulder kicks her out of her sleep. Her longtime friend and foe is ever consistent. It’s November, and dawn has not yet shown its face. Her cold dark room reminds her of death. It is after all, the month of death. She hears a neighbour roll over in bed. The springs are probably as old as his grandfather but hardly a nuisance to hear. In fact, it’s comforting to hear the expected. There is life upstairs.

She pulls the duvet over her head and whispers her morning mantra, “Please help me be a better person and make this day slightly different…Amen.” Shuffling to the washroom, she peaks in the room at the end of the hall. Squinting, she sees her black feline sleeping soundly by the windowsill.

In the kitchen she starts the coffee. She grinds the coffee beans at night to ensure quiet in the morning. Pulling the curtain in the living room, she sees dark purple shades painted across the sky. What a gift to see this performance offering hope for a new day…yet, it’s all a lie, really. Nothing changes.
Tiptoeing to the washroom, she closes the door runs her morning bath while the coffee maker does its magic. Hot water oils her joints…sort of, at least to function, maybe enough to walk to the bus stop today. Lowering her body so her shoulders are covered in the hot steaming water, she lets out a soft groan exhaling the bad.

The last gasps of the coffee wizard announce the end of her bath.
Sitting in her mother’s old rocker, she sips her first taste of happiness leaning on two ice packs. The aroma fills the air. The ice slowly numbs the pain on her neck and lower back; the rising sun puts a smile on her parched lips. Who knows? Maybe today will be different.

For decades, she’s always told herself that pain is her friend. If she feels aches, it means she’s alive rather than paralysed and unfeeling. She has the energy to work, to love, the passion to care despite the lulls in the day or night, she still lives and feels.

Accepting her limits is the secret. Walking too far or housecleaning in one shot will force her into inaction for a day or two. On days she cannot function, she reads, writes, edits photos or binges on Netflix…always pleasures to take her mind off physical discomforts…the nagging, accusing poking of her stalker or long-time partner?

dawn squints
billowy shadows linger
first snowfall

dawn squints
cringing at intruders
morning strain

billowy shadows linger
shift in autumn’s speed
chasing winter

first snowfall
brightening muddy paths
cooling giddy tongues

(c) Tournesol 19/11/07

Happy Birthday Celestine

 

She writes words that move you; sensual, romantic and insightful. Like bees and butterflies producing beauty, she graces us with her haiku and cherita.

creates melodies
like blue breasted kingfishers
in her poetry
singing collectively
Happy Birthday, Celestine!

© tournesol ‘19/11/04

Publicaitons: Haiku Rhapsodies & Whispers at Dawn (a collection of Cheritas)
Follow her on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/museonfirebooks/

A haibun and a Dear Emma journal…just thinking on paper

 

It’s driving her bonkers visiting so many condos. She is working still but this new place should be affordable when she no longer works and accessible to basic needs. Public transportation must be achievable so she can still get around at all hours of the day and evening. She loves the city for the culture, education and so many interesting events. She loves to read and if her new location does not provide what she needs in books, she wants to be able to hop on a bus and go to her Alma mater, having access to it’s library.

visiting
searching
a place to call home

visiting
private homes
of strangers

searching
impossible dreams
peace of mine

a place to call home
yet, fearing isolation
single … not alone

(c) Tournesol ’19/10/30

Yesterday she heard a radio broadcast of a man who retired. He talked about how it was a terrible shock to him. She has been planning to write more and teach English part time on line or in person when she retires. She planned on volunteering doing group work like she did a few years ago but somehow she did not feel “at home” in community outreach programmes like she did in Toronto. Why was that? Was she tired of volunteering in the mental health world where she has worked for almost 4 decades, volunteering and working? Well, that would make sense. Even if she offered workshops, she knows she would still be drawn into their narratives that pull at the heartstrings.

And, to hear this man voice his misery with retirement, jolted her. She thought about the time when it will be an END…rather than her usually way of thinking that it will be a new beginning. Even if she got certified to teach last fall, she never really grasped the idea of cutting ties to workforce. She remembers not working for one year when the children were little and she found work to do from home to keep her sanity. Somehow, being productive AND connected to people was a need and not just a desire.

How did she get here? She has always talked about volunteering and working part time here and there to fill her time. She has relished the idea of going to a library or coffee shop with her laptop and writing to her heart’s content. And yet when it is a choice and something in the future, it looks like a dream come true. When it gets closer, it feels like a death sentence. Oh my, why is she seeing her future so bleak? Is it that time of year?

November approaching is like opening your heart and home to death. The only good thing about this month was her first child was born on the 7th. She feels herself slipping into the darkness of despair and numbness. Knowing it is going to happen; understanding the why’s and how’s makes it even more frustrating because that mood just takes control over her. It snickers and sometimes bellows at her weakness. It weighs on her like a heavy duvet with iron fists keeping her under, and all she can do is concentrate on breathing…waiting for a break in that dark sky. Until then, she will go through the motions…work three days a week; listening to the darkest stories from callers, searching for hope. She sometimes, feels like a hypocrite not being able to take her own advice. She can hear them, feel them, open her heart to them and engage them and help them get to a safer and lighter place even if it’s just for a night, one more day, one more week. If only she could have someone like that to do the same for her.

It is probably one of the toughest parts of being in the service profession. Police officers, first responders, nurses, physiotherapists, massage therapists, doctors, teachers and social service workers and any other outreach career, have the same risks of slipping. Some take comfort with their family, friends and balancing self-care. Others drink too much or eat too much. The things they see or hear are not things you can share and vent with a friend.

In Toronto she had a great therapist (doctor/masters in social work) covered by healthcare. She was even her doctor and her support was helpful and refreshing. Even her doctor would pick her brain on ideas for clients she had who were parents.

She doesn’t feel it really matters where you live. It is how she feels inside…the heart of any home is the soul of the person living there. The living space can be spotless or cluttered, shiny or dreary, quiet or noisy, it all depends on what is going on inside that person. However, lots of windows make a huge difference…just being able to look at the sky; looking out and also seeing life around her like pedestrians, cars, squirrels and chipmunks. Seeing life is vital…it is a connection to the living and she can relate more and more to older people she worked with years ago. She is minutes away from any of these persons now.

She so admired their energy and persistence to keep moving and staying involved with social events. She wonders what their secret was when that heavy duvet weighed them in the morning or when it hurt to move a muscle or hurt even more to open their eyes. She did get advice from her 90 yr old aunt one time. Roll out of bed, shuffle to the bath and run a nice hot bath to oil the joints; then you can move!
She does this on most mornings now.

Maybe she could learn from more retired people. Experience is worth its weight in gold…now she is feeling a bit more hopeful. Thanks, Emma, for listening.

Daily moments Oct 30 2019, clr

 

Reading Julie Parenteau…haibun

Reading Julie Parenteau, Femme Cherche  Homme Aimant le Meutre

(C)Clr’9-10-16

The train moved faster trying to make up for a late departure. She leans her head on the window and watches all the colours of the season embracing her like an old woolen shawl…the one GrandMaman used to wear. The skies are grey and the fall colours flash even more through the mist of the pouring rain.

This is a time to bundle up on a comfy couch or chair and read a book. She turns the page on the mystery novel “Femme Cherche Homme aimant le Meutre” she started reading at the station. The author, Julie Parenteau begins the first page with a jolt inciting the reader to read more, more, more…unfortunately she must read slowly. When she reads in French, she has to sound out each word to understand properly and she sure doesn’t want to miss anything her new favourite Quebec author has written.

Language is so different written from spoken and she learned French on the streets. She had not read a French novel in a while her last one was « Sur le Seuil » by Patrick Senécal, another Québécois writer. His writing affects the reader like Stephen King does…no kidding! And she remembers finding this a real page turner.

After about twenty pages, she usually gets into a different mindset and falls into the world of the author where she no longer notices what language she is reading. How she likes when that happens…her curiosity and love of words take over as well as a thrilling plot!

The muffled sound of the train whistling as it passes through small towns, caught her attention and she looks out on the fields. It is late in the season and she notices the perfectly round bales of hay sitting in the meadow, waiting to bed their new home for the winter.

Mesmerized
A panorama of autumn
Slipping away
from a rear view seat
Nature bids farewell

© Tournesol’19-10-16

If you are interested in reading Julie’s newly published novel, check it out at Indigo, Amazon, Archambault and Renaud Bray. Also look up Julie’s Facebook page to get to know more about this talented writer.

https://www.facebook.com/Julie-Parenteau-auteure-279004306368883/.

Daily moments September 25, 2019 “missing Dom’ ” ~Troibun

 

You know how the smells of certain food, the images of certain things like flowers or sounds like a song all bring you back in time reminding you of that special someone?  Time stops for a moment to allow you to place yourself back with that person. That is what was happening today as she waited by the stove preparing her lunch. 

The eggs were simmering over roasted garlic and rice.  It would take a few minutes longer, she knew, but they would be “just right”, like that amazing omelette she had years ago in her friend’s kitchen in St Basil le Grand.  She remembers sitting at the counter and chatting with her as she would go back and forth leisurely but expertly, to the stove, preparing their brunch.

miss her smile
warm and genuine hugs
shimmering baby blues

miss her smile
sharing joys of music
blues and indie songs

warm and genuine hugs
former colleague that became her friend
on her first shift

shimmering baby blues
telling so many stories
spill with emotion

© Tournesol ‘19/09/25

Daily moments September 25, 2019  missing Dom’   Troibun

Genjuan International Haibun Contest 2020

Icebox

We are pleased to announce that the Genjuan International Haibun Contest 2020 will be open for submissions from Oct. 1 till Jan. 31 (arriving a couple of days late is usually OK). This year we have a new Officer, Yaeno Azuchi, and therefore a new address: 53-56 Izumigawa-cho, Shimogamo, Sakyo-ku, Kyoto 606-0807, Japan. Much gratitude goes to her predecessor in Hyogo, Eiko Mori, for many years of bright, efficient service.

We also have two new Judges, both haiku poets: Akiko Takazawa & Sean O’Connor. Akiko, a disciple of Murio Suzuki (1919-2004), leads the Karinka 花林花 group and lectures on haiku at NHK Gakuen in Tokyo. She is also a fine translator of haiku, both Japanese into English and vice versa. Sean is the author of Even the Mountains – Five Years in a Japanese Village, amongst other memorable books, and has a good grasp of the Japanese view of…

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