my e-calendar 2023

I fill my work calendar with big stones. I organize my activities and set my career goals for 2023.  Family's birthdays and other milestones are colored in spring green.  Also my timetable for vacations & personal days from work are marked  in bright pink.    That block of time is precious, like a gift to be carefully unwrapped, slowly after each tear.  

However for my personal life's goal, the calendar is open.   I welcome the blankness of the canvas because it means new things and challenges for me.  Though I am keen on regularly walking, hiking and reading in my down time,  I invite time to ghost me, while I ponder on my verses & mystery of the night sky. 

mud-stained sky is glum

melting ice by craggy shore-

birds glide, swelling tide 

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday, hosted by Kim Russell.   Our poetry community is back! Cheers to 2023!   

footsteps on the hill

We hike on man-made hill, overlooking the city.   The sky is muted blue-grey, with caramel  warmth of the noon day sun.   On this day, we are grateful for many things - one is a free Monday, instead of going to work.   We talk about what we really love to do and toil away our hours without regard for money - arts, writing, reading, craft and gardening.   How we would enjoy our days, dotted with activities that fill us, as homemade banana bread and hot coffee and chocolate.   Still, we are thankful for the steady jobs that we have, and that allows us to pursue with passion the "other stuff".  Around us, the leaves of the maple trees are showing rust - a sign that summer is ending. We sweat it out, up the steep slope, our footsteps crunching the pebbles.

birds and bees feast
on crab apples on ground- red
autumn wind is rising

Grace @ EverydayAmazing

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday, hosted by Frank J.  Tassone.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Happy Labour Day!

Yellowness of our days

The color yellow brightens my day.   Brings me sunshine, sunflowers and carefree balloons even when a sudden storm would dampen our bright sunny days.   The child in me is happy, walking with a spring in my step.  

Spring is my favorite season.  And for the first time in a long while, I nurtured perrennial blooms and several herbs like rosemary, basil, thyme, mint-orange, lemon grass and chives.   I love cutting the herbs fresh and adding them in my cooking.   I also learned how to regrow them indoors so my supply does not ran out.  When I eat my herbed-drizzled food, I taste earth's gifts and magic of the sun.   


sky is serving a plate-
daffodils, dandelions
with bluebells & birdsongs


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Lost and Found - Nature's Magic.  Hosted by Merril D. Smith.

Picnic, Then & Now

That first year that our family arrived in Ontario, we were thrilled to picnic along with some friends during the summer and autumn months.  We excitedly visited parks and lakes for a taste of fresh air, sun and maple trees.   Four or five families would decide what to bring (lots of food and plastic ware) and then we will meet in the park with our young children.   It was fun grilling meat on barbeque pit, feasting on fresh fruits and vegetables, and most specially catching up on each other's lives.   The children played ball, and chased the birds and squirrels.  

How times have changed over the years.   We find packing and preparing food for the picnic now tiresome.  Since our grown up children don't join us, it is just my hubby and I hiking and eating our Subway sandwiches in the nearby park.  The lighter our load, the more enjoyable our walks.   We still reconnect with our friends by going to someone else's house and dine in the outside patio with catered food.   It is not the place that matters now, but the bond of friendship that we most treasure.    

two geese fly eastward
as April clouds blanket sky-
tulips budding - joy -


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub -  Haibun Monday - That Picnic- with Gina as our lovely host.  Our theme for this week’s haibun is picnic!  Share with us a memory (good or bad or funny from a picnic – your haibun must not be fictional but a real experience!

January clouds

January clouds are slate gray & maple trees are scrawny against the canvas of setting sun.   Though the winter chill is thick air in this park, there is no wind movement to startle the carpet of dead leaves.  The lake is frozen in ice and the ducks are nowhere in sight.  I cross the small wooden bridge and marveled at the mossy green and twigs caught in lake's stones.     

This time of the year brings new energy and plans for the coming months.   Projects for home improvements, writing and attending courses, are scheduled to keep me busy. Hopefully a career change is in the next horizon.  I focus in far distance, dreamlike trance...but a beep in my fitbit fitness tracker tells me, it's time to move!


i breathe the stillness
of pond, calmness of bare trees- 
night pounces, silent cat

Centennial Park, Mississauga

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday,  hosted by Kim Russell. Thanks for your visit.

Waiting

We wait eagerly for Friday night to arrive and settle as an old familiar book in our hands.  Weekends are for staying home and playing with our first grandson, on Sunday afternoons.  With our work, time is taskmaster juggling all our commitments.   So it is relaxing to finally kick back and get into a slower pace of chores.   With the Christmas season in the air, we are eager children counting the days of Christmas Eve.   

Last week, we saw a flock of white geese flying away, to what we assumed would be a warmer climate.   The winter season has clouded our sky with gloomy grey and whitened the garden with icy stillness.   Maple trees are bare of leaves and we can't wait for spring to breeze in with all its bird songs and flaming hues.  

brown leaves raked away- 

i spy bright moon's unveiling

above misty windows-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday with the theme of Waiting, with guest blogger, Imelda.   Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  

threads of autumn

I look at the faces of my high school friends, and theirs mirror mine.  Faces delicately stamped by passing time.   Hands creased by toil, care and chores.  The fabric of our stories have become heavier and darker with increasingly sad stories of deaths, poor health, family and personal struggles.  I have migrated abroad in another country along with some friends, while some have lived in the same city.   Though our travels have taken us to different places since graduation, we have now arrived at the same spot - more tolerant, kinder and compassionate to each other.   Where disagreements and jealousy gnawed at our friendship, we now provide help, support and celebrate each other's journey.   Viewed within our group's narrative, I count each thread, weave, tug and pull with gratitude. Whatever change is coming my way, I can rely on this group of ladies to see me through.

   

wind builds a bed 
of fallen leaves with sun's luster-
sky brims - autumn's rust-

Autumn by Everyday Amazing 

Posted for dVerse Poets  - Haibun Monday - Transitions, hosted by guest Merril Smith.  Please visit us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thanks for the visit.

Murmurs in the crowd

I move with the crowd, stepping forward, stepping back, as if in a familiar dance. My facial expression is reflected in the faces all around me.  My hands are curled in, protecting my space, so thin it is an invisible distance.   Am I unique and special?  Against the sea of humanity of every skin and hair color, I am but a speck, perhaps a leaf falling unnoticed to the pavement.  Commuting does this to you - a perspective of the other's heartbeat, a bigger world.

On the upside, there is comfort in the shared journey, even for a short period of time.  Wherever we came from, and where we are heading to, here is a communal space - a base of touchdown,  a point of reference.  There is safety in numbers, as if it is a validation that I am going to the right direction.  Even the clothes  and shoes I am wearing is validated by the crowd of commuters.   We are all mirrors of each other, glazed by city dust.

Outside the train, the windows tell a story of our changing seasons.   The maple trees have turned to pumpkin yellow, mellow orange and brown hues. Grey clouds and mist hover most of our mornings.   A chill nips the air and the geese have taken flight to warmer shores.    We huddle in our seats- coats, sweaters, boots- waiting for the doors to chime, opening to another flood of faces.   

murder of crows 
on power lines and street lamps-
sunset recedes, falling leaf-





Posted for dVerse Poets Pub, Haibun Monday:   Murmuration with guest host Qbit/Randall.  Theme:  One's self, En-Masse.  Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Morning walks

Morning weaves rumpled threads of grey and blue across the sky.  Clouds are clumps of cotton and velvet, stiching sunlight in muted hues.  I inhale the fresh tang of dew and pine needles.   My shoes crunch the pebbles as I begin the descent to the creek and small bridge.  The maple leaves have started to fray on the edges and some trees are showing tints of orange char.   I spotted browning leaves on the grass, the first of many in autumn's slow waltz with the wind.   

two brown geese forage 
on shallow tides, ribbed by wild
flowers yellowed  - summer -   

Sunflowers, Jerusalem Artichoke 

Posted for dVerse Poets - Haibun Monday - Morning hosted by Mish.   Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.

Changing seasons

My friends and I agree to meet up - its been years since we exchanged meaningful conversations face to face.  We greeted each other as if it was only yesterday that we were in high school, preparing to graduate and going off our different paths.   Have we really changed all these decades? Except for a few wrinkles and grey hairs, we shared our life's challenges and discover more similarities than differences.   But the best was  bonding over food, stories and future reunions at this stage in our lives.

Apple trees are heavy with green fruits and because we know how sour it can be, no one gathers the apples.  Most of them are falling on the grass, bruised and browning for the birds and insects.   Early evenings are now cooler as the sun shimmers over veiled clouds, setting earlier than yesterday.

sun is gold-masked coin

behind grey clouds - crickets sound -

echoes of the past

Posted for dVerse Poets - Haibun Monday, Sounds of Koorogi, Hosted by Victoria C. Slotto.

Mothering the mother

I hold my first grandson, who is 1 month old in my arms.  His whole face and sleepy frame speaks of innocence and trust. I really have to get used to being called a Grandma now.  The cycle of life loops.  I am transported back to the past, back to time I first held my first born in April.   We stayed in my family's ancestral home during my maternity leave. It was a hot summer month, yet I felt soothed by the  abundance of mango, papaya and banana trees around the house.  It was the season of ripeness and the house buzzed with energy. 

As a first time mother, I was excited to dive into my new role.  I followed the doctor's instructions and kept a diary.   If my son would cry or have a bum stomach, my mother and grandmother and I would have a quick meeting and discuss solutions.  It was a "mother's conference only" and I was lucky to benefit from their wisdom.  My mother's wings were wet, but I flew confidently with their wind sails beneath me.     

My son burps his baby, cradling him with strength of giant willow tree.         

chickadees frolic
as tropical heat dries blankets- 
i smell - milk & sunshine -  


Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday, hosted by Jilly.   
Thanks for the visit ~

keeping house

It was only when I got married that I lived away from my family. With our first home, I was excited to keep the house as clean as I could.  There was freedom in arranging our furniture, scheduling our own weekend activities and preparing meals.   It was like playing house, while remembering all that my mom told me about housekeeping.   With the freedom, came the burdens of keeping expenses within our means and making everyday household and meal decisions with my husband.  Good thing he was easy to please as my cooking skills were very basic and I was trying out different dishes for us.  Yes, there were burnt dishes, disaster meals, and arguments about groceries and bills.  We adjusted and moved on.  

Throughout my marriage and raising 3 children, my husband never asked me to quit my career. I was working full time, and he encouraged me to study further and pursue higher career goals.  It helped that his mother was a doctor and was also encouraged to work during her marriage.   The challenge for me, and for all working women, is to balance work, family life, and personal (alone) time.  It continues to this day. 

black birds and chickadees

peck on seeds under giant willow tree-

summer sun, red rose- 

Posted for dVerse Poets, Haibun Monday, with Bjorn Rudberg as host.   The theme is Freedom (benefits and consequences).  See you when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.  Thank you.

Dusk

When the days are long and warm as wine, I bask in the sunset as long as I can.   Marvelling the softening shades with growing darkness, there is nothing as peaceful as contemplating the cloud forms or the names of wild spring flowers.  I don't take the serenity  for granted as I am aware that others are suffering or in pain, and looks to the future with uncertainty and fear. This season of light is very short.  I inhale each moment-  a blessing.

ice pellets strike
cars in parking lots, hawked by seagulls-
spring buds freeze in storm-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday, hosted for the last time by Victoria Slotto ~  Theme is Chijitsu - Lingering Day.

Thank you Victoria for your devotion and support of our poetry community ~  Good luck in your writing project ~

Winter Moon

The wind chill is thick ice on my legs and cheeks.  I walk quickly inside the house, warm with fleece covers.   The snow is a blanket over the bare landscape, with the sun barely making an appearance.   With the polar vortex temperatures, the only footprints on the snow were those of the black squirrels.   

Some nights, the moon hides behind the thick clouds.   As if swallowed by giant black waves, rocking the night sky.  The stark simplicity of the starless night is a beauty in its purest form.   In the darkness, I muse about many things, including my plans for the coming days.   I see that I have a lot of things to do yet, with time ticking very fast.  Here are my gloves, spade and seeds.   I tend to my inner garden.   

wild field is notebook
blank of green, red and sunshine-
birds flutter- sketch of silver- 



Posted for dVErse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday, hosted by Victoria Slotto.   Last week, we had temperatures going as low as -21 to -30 with the wind chill.  Here is short write up about the haibun prompt:

Here is a short quote about Fuyu No Tsuki from a Japanese perspective: Fuyu No Tsuki has a pale tint that indicates a kind of coldness deep within—solemn and clear, a frame of mind.

Today, I would like to see a brief non-fiction account of your experience (not more than three tight paragraphs) related to Fuyu No Tsuki, the winter moon, followed by a Haiku that observes the standards of the form by including reference to a season.

the long mo(u)rning

My mom comes to visit the graveyard to say her prayers.  The early November crowds have gone, and the solemnity has returned to the cemetery.  Her lips and fingers move around the rosary beads with ease.   As always, her eyes water as she sees my father's etched name on the grey plate. How each letter glitters like tiger's eyes under the dying sunset.  Though she has dedicated masses and special intentions, she wonders if he is at peace at last.   Is he still suffering or has he finally reunited with our Lord? Every night, she prays for a sign, message or a dream of my father's after-life journey.     Over the phone, I listen to her crying and questions.  I have no answers.                

snowy owl hoots

behind trees & carpet of leaves-

night is silent, starless-

Source

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Haibun Monday, hosted by Victoria Slotto.  The theme is to

write about Fukuroo – the Owl. Owl is a winter kigo but you can write about any season. Please keep the prose to under 200 words. 

petals of kindness

The city can harden your heart due to the toil of everyday labor and from beggars who make begging their job.   So when I witness acts of kindness from total strangers in the subway train, like giving up their seats for others, it reminds me that courtesy and kindness still abounds.    One even went out of her way to console a teary-eyed commuter.   When I have a chance, I give up my seat too when needed or share a tissue or pen when asked.   I believe in paying it forward, because I too was a recipient of kindness.  Years ago, I needed some coins for my bus home and wanted to break my $5.00 bill.  The woman offered her $1.00 coin, smiling and chatting with me and didn't asked for anything.  A small token, but a precious reminder - the seeds of kindness are everyone's reach.   

whiff of cold wind sends 
shivers of winter's dread- the dead
leaves petal the soil
         

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday, hosted by Toni, Kanzensakura, where the theme is kindness and the prose part is 150 words or less.  Thanks for the visit ~

We wore black

The world at the other side, is drily chaotic but still a beloved motherland.   I have come for the funeral but it felt like a homecoming.   For myself, I had prayed for peace for my ailing father, and a comforting life for my mother and sisters who have been caring for him. He was a difficult patient who knew his days were numbered. As I arrive at the wake, the traditions of grieving made everything familiar, and  reassuring - flowers, mass cards, consoling words of neighbors and friends, and the prayers for the dead for 9 days.   

Rains came at early morning, cooling the summer-like temperatures during the day.  Dawn was reddish grey, with gloomy skies.   When the rains break, it was steady humming on the roof and small garden.  We were lucky that on the morning of the funeral rites, sky held its peace & only gave away its tears in the late afternoon.

smell of fragrant roses

perks up my nose, but there're no flowers-

only dying candles-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun, hosted by Bjorn Rudberg. The haiku happened to me.  

I, a watercolor

My words are dark stones, dry and fading at night.  The burdens of city life staining my tongue ash and grey. I soak it in watercolors and river of calm.   I am very much aware that these negative thoughts are transients, like autumn leaves slipping away in the mercurial winds.  Each morning, I decide to paint my thoughts with nature's vibrant brushstrokes.  Why?   Because I know that I can heal myself, restore myself again when I am out of balance.  My writing is therapeutic and as I write positive affirming words, so I am lifted on wings of serenity.   

pumpkin-yellow leaf,
a still canvas of autumn-
gulls fly overhead-

Posted for Dverse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday, hosted by Toni (Kanzansakura).   Thanks for the visit ~

September musings

A tree clothed in half green, half orange.  Morning sun is muted yellow, as leaves start to fall on field of green and purple wild flowers.   The colors of September are myriad and signals the changing season from long summer days to cooler afternoons.  The sunsets are coming earlier, instead of 9pm, often bringing rains at night.  Amidst faded summer petals, my hardy roses are blooming anew, as if on the second spring. And all because of the evening rain.   

At the home front, I am almost 1/3 empty nest.  Though my youngest is starting university tomorrow, she will be staying home as we live at the border of Toronto City.   She has new laptop, bags, shoes and clothes.  Though she revels in her new surroundings, she is not ready to live on her own, unlike her two older brothers.  She loves the comforts of home cooked meals and nice room.  I am mindful to keep a balance - giving her independence, while widening her boundaries. 

fallen green apples 
litter the rain-soaked ground-
grey-tailed birds perch, swishing-

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday hosted by Kanzensakura ~  Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm ~ 

summer of 2017

We inhaled, slurped, nibbled slowly.  As if to prolong the sensation of awe and grandeur. As if we could not get enough with the first taste of  clean mountain air, the spice of rain on forest floor.  We hiked, grasped for breath and took lots of photos which can never really do justice to the area. We love the different facets of the mountains, blueness of glacier-fed lakes, rivers and valleys with thousands of evergreen pine cones.  And the giant rocks with ice glacier on top, that swallowed our vision.  

The road trip took us to two national parks, Banff and Jasper of Alberta.  It was our first time to visit the eastern part of Canada.  The call of the wild and footprints of the First Nations are dominant in the historic places.   Our spirits were restored, all stress forgotten.   We vowed to return soon. 

river tides are slow dancing

to wind's drumming song, we gaze

at elk grazing, sun-gold

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Haibun Monday hosted by Toni, Kanzensakura.  Thanks for the visit.