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Archive for November, 2014

Haiku and Loku Days-Returning to Sleep on a Cold Morning

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2014

My dog cannot sleep through the night. (Therefore I do not get to sleep through the night.) She has needs. She needs to bark at the rabble rousers on the street. She needs to bark at the totally silent and invisible via amazing stealth skills cat that she knows is out there. She needs to do those out door tasks that dogs need to do, or so she claims, any where from 3-5 in the morning. Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. But I know that if I don’t get up, she will have to do it and it will be in the house. So I get up, and even though my yard is fenced, I grab some outer wear, put her on her leash and go out with her. If I don’t, she will be out there way too long, tangling with the occasional stray opossum or raccoon, barking at invisible cats or making a ruckus of some form or another that no one appreciates at any time, but especially so early in the morning.

If she wakes me early enough and she does her business in a cursory manner, I have enough time to get a little more sleep before I need to get up for work. I always hope that I had remembered to pull the sheets up to hold on to some of the warmth of sleep so I don’t have to climb into a once again cold bed.

Returning to Sleep on a Cold Morning

Last vestige of heat
Calls her back in warmth of sheets, 
Back into sleep.
Bedtime story by Jeanie Tomanek

Bedtime Story by Jeanie Tomanek


Haiku and Loku Days-Gray Early November Morning

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2014

October is gone, the grayness of November is definitely here. I am greeted today by gray: the gray of the sky hovering over the drying brown of leaves on the ground, little by little giving way to mottled sunlight.

Gray Early November Day

Dawn blanket of gray
Lifts, falls away. Light nestles 
On brown leaf litter.

~~Brrrrrrr~~ by Paula Ford

Haiku and Loku Days-Being Da Vinci

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2014

There were different times in school, a teacher would ask us what we want to be when we grow up. I definitely did not want to be confined to one of the few socially acceptable options available for women at that time. Nothing wrong with being a mommy, a secretary, a nurse or a teacher. They were just not what I wanted to do or be.  I wanted to maybe be a spy, a comedy writer, a scientist, an architect, a linguist who was fluent in at least 7 languages (I like the number seven), an artist, a writer, a doctor, a healer, a shaman, or a mystic. Finally I realized that I wanted to be Leonardo Da Vinci, a renaissance man, or woman in my case. ( I love the word polymath.)

I have this horrible fear of being categorized, labeled and put into a box. I have a variety of interests and have studied a number of things and areas. But I am sadly not professionally fluent in any of them. If growing up means embracing that box, well then I may never grow up. But I have grown old, antiquated, obsolete. Just as one boxes up old stuff and shoves it in the attic or the dusty spider webbed corner in the basement or garage, I feel society is putting me in a box for not belonging, not conforming. I do not feel the here and now is my place. Do I belong in a time past, or a time yet to come? Is this box a portal to prepare, to let go and move on.


anatomia_leonardo_da_vinci-300x225Being Da Vinci

For ‘ere, when I grow, 
Da Vinci
I’ve wanted to be.

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