Haibun: Fierce and Hot
This evening I could stare back into the fierce eyes of the day, eyes veiled by the clouds.
Leaving two minutes earlier than yesterday, she has no less fire. Maybe she’s bolder to dissuade those of us who say, “well the days are getting shorter”— today she showed up with 107 when yesterday was only 100. Sure she is peace and steady—she’s the drift and sway of when we fondly reflect on “Summer”—but fire is her essence.
Her high heat is reality, but her voice echos a bit more. Her voice hollows out a little, being carried more by the momentum of what was before the solstice reversal. I’ve known for a few years that since the end of June, the fundamentals of the heat change and shift to cooler, even when I can’t feel it. I know, intellectually, how the days shrink because we pull towards winter.
But yet, I know the burn with any rock I touch. My every breath is even more heat: her fire and her will to be the ember aglow, not the gray coal from summer’s past. And then I start to lose all this thought, anxiety pulls me from my eyes. I compare myself to all these shifts. I am no longer with this setting sun, this moment now, but in the worries of past and future.
I walk away from the brilliance of summer with a mindless, “goodnight.”
these burning clouds set
smoldering for yet more heat.
but tonight, pink skies
Leaving two minutes earlier than yesterday, she has no less fire. Maybe she’s bolder to dissuade those of us who say, “well the days are getting shorter”— today she showed up with 107 when yesterday was only 100. Sure she is peace and steady—she’s the drift and sway of when we fondly reflect on “Summer”—but fire is her essence.
Her high heat is reality, but her voice echos a bit more. Her voice hollows out a little, being carried more by the momentum of what was before the solstice reversal. I’ve known for a few years that since the end of June, the fundamentals of the heat change and shift to cooler, even when I can’t feel it. I know, intellectually, how the days shrink because we pull towards winter.
But yet, I know the burn with any rock I touch. My every breath is even more heat: her fire and her will to be the ember aglow, not the gray coal from summer’s past. And then I start to lose all this thought, anxiety pulls me from my eyes. I compare myself to all these shifts. I am no longer with this setting sun, this moment now, but in the worries of past and future.
I walk away from the brilliance of summer with a mindless, “goodnight.”
these burning clouds set
smoldering for yet more heat.
but tonight, pink skies
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| & Haiku: Smoldering Clouds |
