Week 2-23 - Haibuno

Would you like to receive a drawing/haiku postcard?
Please send your name and snail-mail address to postcards at hargie dot com. And I’ll get one out to you tout de suite.

9 January 2023

“Don’t deflate the jam”
tells you just how old I am
but I’m still pumpin’!

Layers upon layers of gray clouds descend tagged with advisory notices. It could be worse. It could be much worse. It is status quo, and that’s just fine. We went to get “fancy” drinks at a local coffee shop. It was filled with people of a certain age staring at their computer screens. They all looked coifed and out-of-towner. Zooming in a coffee shop? It’s a thing. It all seemed so 2019 normal. Apparently my brain is not quite there, not quite back to the future present or something.

10 January 2023

Two new sheds with land
if scavengers don’t destroy
can’t close soon enough

That post project lethargy has settled in uncomfortably. The shift from one big thing to another takes time. The lethargy rattles the desire to get into the next big thing. This quasi laid to rest is queasy feeling. The theme du month is discombobulated flustered befuddlement. The synonyms are calling and they want their brothers and sisters back. I stare at the sheds through my binoculars trying to see if someone is lurking. The fading sun trying to fight through clouds make the shed windows waver with light. A kind of mirage, a trickster, fooling me into paranoia.

11 January 2023

Creative practice
thriving, growing, feeling strong
power of doing

A conscious decision was made to stumble through discovery. The usual subjects were feeling stale and downright ignored. You gotta shake it sometimes, stir the pot, alter your plans, steer in a different direction, lower the sails, and drift. The mood board for this activity would look something like sitting at the waters edge on a fluffy white beach with warm blue waters lapping at your calves. A gentle “hey I’m here” from the Mysteries in the swish.

12 January 2023

Bluebird quiet smiles
stuck below, snow carved in tracks
push legs to vert max

She keeps asking, “will we ever get sick of the light?” Chatting with strangers about future elsewheres and where we’ve beens. Sometimes it feels entirely normal, sometimes it feels like normal will never return. The fluffy new snow came up to mid-calf, and said “slow down, go your own speed.”

13 January 2023

Surrender to sales
prevent wail of Southwest wind
slave to improvements

The chapter is closed suddenly and painlessly on the first year. The improvements have been completed, and their effects are being captured and noted. They are effective. They were worth it. Onto Chapter 2 - Expansiveness. The fuzzy enveloping expanse, like a soft hug, or a nictitating membrane softly obscuring. What will be will be. It will be expansive, and it will be another submit to surrender.

14 January 2023

Critters climb from holes
reflecting contemplative
colorful humor

We often say to each other “hear that”. And the 'that' is nothing. And the nothing is nothing human. No human sound, other than the crunch of snow under our toes, and our deep breathing in the frigid air. The “hear that” is a kind of perpetual longing. And finding. And hoping. Can we keep and hold the stillness and quiet for one more day?

15 January 2023

Damp snow falls, snow balls
excited dog quivering
a simple joy, full

It begins. We never know how much, or if it will stick. By afternoon there is enough for a tight snowball. Launched and caught. Trying to keep them on a low trajectory so the dog doesn’t blow out her body too soon. Inside the fire is a roaring inferno of year old firewood laid on thick. You can warm your bum in less than a minute in front of the raging coals. Later that night a white out descends completely enveloping the house. Only it’s more of a black cloak of quiet and darkness. The only light is the flicker of the tiki torches at the neighbors gate, and the lights from the greenhouse lights in the bathroom. The rest of the world has disappeared temporarily. I feel disoriented.

Before you go:

Would you like to receive a drawing/haiku postcard?
Please send your name and snail-mail address to postcards at hargie dot com. And I’ll get one out to you tout de suite.

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Jamie Larson