My first ‘tanka in print’

This week I got to see my first tanka in a print publication, the journal of the British Haiku Society, Blithe Spirit. The tanka was part of my first submission to this journal so I was absolutely delighted. I joined the BHS a few days before the submission deadline, not realising there was still time to submit, so it really was a sneaking in at the last minute type of submission. This particular tanka was written whilst I was sitting on my patio. This year I have pretty much given up weeding to allow my garden to determine what it needs (though the brambles, many plum tree saplings and nettles have to be managed otherwise that’s all there would be). There is something about the way that ‘nature’ reclaims its space, when given a chance, that is reassuring. When I look at the patio now, I see a living world of its own. So many things could be enriched if we let the cracks disappear.

The tanka:

I let cracks
disappear
under lemon balm
moss
and forget-me-nots

Thursday 9th March 2023

Snow from my front window. Soft layers of frozen water crystals lying like icing on rich dark fruitcake. But now snow has turned to damp rain and only falls, drops, from the eaves of the roof.

The birds are quieter. A lone sparrow moves around the black wooden gate of our neighbours. It’s not so cold that I had to de-ice the water for the birds. Snow without ice, how does that work?

Wednesday 8th March 2023

Snow that is more like sleet. Ground that is wet. Sky that is a whiter shade of grey. Daffodils and snowdrops. A cold breeze and a warm home. The contrast between a walk outside and a coffee inside.

The sleety snow falls faster now but still evaporates on touch.

Tuesday 28th February 2023

Cold rain unexpectedly greets the start of my walk and I regret not having a hat. The grey today is wearing for some reason. It feels like the plants are burdened, giving up their urge to greet spring. Yet when I return home the clouds have whitened and hints of blue sky bring hope again. No matter what the birds still sing. I realise the plants are not the ones with a burden, it is my post-pain flare drug-induced fatigue that feels the giving up. The plants merely reflect back to me my own experience. They are too busy being themselves to care.

Monday 27th February 2023

First walk since last Wednesday. It’s good to be out amongst the trees on grassy leaf-laden paths. The day is grey and the wind is cold but the freshness fills me with renewed life. Much as I love and appreciate staying curled up in a warm and comfortable home, getting out for a walk is good.

I see two muntjac, separately, bouncing. The white of their upturned tails standing out amongst the dulled brown of a winter wood. They move as if on pogo sticks or springs, and of course I think of Bambi.

I am doing a lot of thinking about freedom versus danger as I observe my new hamster friend every evening trying to find a way out of the safe free roam area I set up. If I could I would let her have the run of the house and the garden but of course it’s not safe. The glass tank I have for her is big, bigger than the minimum recommended now, but still it doesn’t feel big enough. What size of enclosure would? I wonder what it is about humans that makes us want to squeeze out the life spirit of other creatures for our own enjoyment. To put them in cages too small for their needs. I just want Rogue to be happy within the constraints we have. Surely that is the best thing, to bring happiness to another. I hope that one day all the Rogues will have been adopted, no more breeders, and no more beautiful spirited souls condemned to live their lives in cages for human entertainment.

Wednesday 22nd February 2023

Champneys Henlow Grange. Here for a spa day close to home. A mini-holiday. Quiet, peace and voices and music. Snowdrop walk with daffodil interrupters. White egret wading, flying, a puff of snow. Canada geese, a pair of, lunching on the lawn. Ducks, bottoms up. Coot. Squirrels bouncing with elongated strides. Muntjac startled, runs away. A drunken topiarist’s asymmetrical patterns, vases, who knows what. Done on the cheap perhaps by a man on a one night stand.

Saturday 25th February 2023

Lady blackbird arrives on the patio in front of me as I sit the other side of the French doors to meditate. She looks around but does not seem to notice me and hops to the water tray. Her body is round and full.

As I write a coal tit lands on that same try for a sip of water. Black head, white flash, yellow and grey-ish body. Delicate and light. I realise that I rarely see birds that look unwell or injured.

I look up and catch a squirrel landing on Ash, making their way to the trunk to sit and eat. Robins flit just below, perhaps hoping to join in. Then squirrel climbs head first down into our garden. It looks as if whatever was left of the snack is being buried in the lawn, or no, I think maybe squirrel is finding more snacks to eat. Perhaps snacks buried from another time. There is definitely digging and eating going on.

Tuesday 21st February 2023

Snowdrops dropping over the side of the bank. A moat from medieval times that runs with mud and sticks and fallen leaves. A cascading waterfall of white drops bringing life to a brown edge. Skiing through trees. Flowing, yet still.

Monday 20th February 2023

Sheep grazing. Sunshine, blue sky and wind. Tired as the fallen leaves.

Thursday 16th February 2023

3 geese
(Images of) tumbling clowns
fly through my head

On the reservoir walk this morning three geese flew overhead, honking all the way. I wondered where the rest of the flock was. Every time I hear geese I think of clowns in big baggy trousers at the circus with their honking horns.