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Posts tagged ‘seasons’

Haiku and Loku Days-Whispered Farewells

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2016


We had been snuggled in a quiet snow over night, winter stepping quietly back in to softly cover us. We awoke to a winter world flocked in gentle white.  The SSB Drever and I went for our walk this morning. At one point, a slight wind whipped the flocking of snow off a tree from across the street. It landed on us and on the pavement like dainty dollops of cream. We paused our steps to just to be and to enjoy this beautiful offering.

I don’t know if March came in like a lion or a lamb. We had experienced temperatures near 70* last week, (single digits the week before that) and now it was cold again. Yesterday was blue sky and cold sunshine. Today, more of an early February feel with big flaked snow. In a few days it will be back in the 60’s and close to 70 again.

It is almost as though winter has a passive-aggressive relationship with us, maybe not unlike some of our relationships with people, relationships with the seasons of our lives. Somehow, you know that, no matter what it was-passionate, intense, violent, calm, serene, disengaged- there are subtle signs it is coming to an end.  Even though today is blanketed in snow, spring is peeping through in the change of light and tips of green poking through the thinning layer of dead leaves. There are signs when other relationships-people, places, and our place in time- in our lives are coming to an end and change is on the way. We see them, but we don’t. We just keep going on thinking whatever is will always be.

Not unlike a person taking the significant one out for dinner to soften the blow of ending a relationship, or to deliver any bad news, maybe winter wanted to leave with a soft memory today. A gentle day to obliterate the memories of harshness and cold. Maybe at the end of it all, all the memories we have will have softened like this gentle winter day.

Whispered Winter Farewell



Snow Covered Tables At Henry's

Snow Covered Tables At Henry’s -© Jo Hewitt 2016

Soft fluffy flocking 


Freely falling off, downward, 


Soft, whispered farewell.

Haiku and Loku Days-Condensation

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2014

This morning I was up before sunrise in the kitchen cooking. I noticed condensation on  the west window. Just a few nights ago the lows were in the 70’s. This morning and two before it, the night temperatures were in the upper 40’s. All of a sudden it seems that autumn is here. It always does that, but now more than ever, faster than ever. It is sudden, like the sonorous swell of cicadas morphing into the tambour and click of the cricket songs, the winds sneaking in from the North, and condensation on a window still chilled from the night air. It is beautiful and intense. There is a melancholy for me, knowing that hidden in this beauty is the awareness of trying to still find warmth and cheer in the unfolding blanket of brown of dying daylight. I know I must condense my desires and dreams into a shorter period of time. The occasional tear condenses and drips from my dreams that can no longer be.



Another season
Condenses on my windows. 
Winter is nearer.
The Window in Autumn

The Window in Autumn
By Henri Le Sidaner 1916


Haiku and Loku Days-Katydid In August

© Jo Hewitt THE TEAL MANGO, 2013

The remaining traces, the gentle wisps of the cool night air, were receding from the soft noise of the golden August morning sun, from the calming song of a blue August morning sky, from the low pitch of the swish and sway of August leaves in the capricious flirting breeze. All of nature lazily meditative to the ohm of the katydids. Their collective breath diminishing the city and its brass abrasion of sound into the realm of nothingness.

After picking a few peaches, I sat amid this unfolding symphony of calm, my body and soul intoning and breathing in the sights, smells, and sounds cloaking me in peaceful solitude.

My body sat under an umbrella of sunshine, a percussion of acorns, from the loving arms of my oak tree above, occasionally pelting the canopy above me. As my body sat, my thoughts took my heart in hand and walked the lane of memories to the farm in August, smelling the flowers, looking on in amazement at the beauty of the humble buckeyes carpeting the ground, the lusciousness of the strange mix of sleepy August sun and August breeze, the buzzing of katydids, the back drop of the tapestry around me.

The quiet, yet intense murmur, the herald of change, whispers loudly. The season is ending-the fruit is ripe, the seed pods are bursting summer’s sweetness betrayed by a trace of the musty decay to come rising on the vapors of the earthly vessel sun-baked in  August daze.. Now is the time to harvest. The autumn, the fall is coming.

The katydid song, a song, a deep murmur in your being that builds. It’s dizzying din can drive you; it can consume you. Where is your season? What is your harvest? Is your autumn, as is this autumn, around the corner? The katydid song tells me so.

I sat meditating in the moment of the katydid. The moment of now and the moment of my childhood. It took me back. And I want to go back, back to the peace of that time. But I can’t. There are peaches on the ground but still some peaches on the tree, the harvest is around me.

Katydid in August

 katydid on celosia

Amid katydid
I sit. August draws vivid
Dreams. Katy-did, can’t.



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