Today was a different story. A late breakfast had us thinking we would enjoy a visit to the backbeach - shortly afterwards this dream was demolished. Just as well we had a movie to watch, and it was a good opportunity to get my blogs into order. Even the cat was happy to come indoors at midday, and after a few tentative attempts to venture outdoors afterwards, finally decided that our bed was a much more interesting place to be.
Anyway, all is not lost. Yesterday's mild afternoon inspired a suite of haiku. It is good to feel a bit creative again.
Winter on the Peninsula
Little seaweed clumps
Fragile bracelets flank the shore
Armed against the tide
Seas of grey silence
Sky luminescent and cold
Nature wins the day
Moment of passion -
Haunting, crisp, dramatic, boldLustful wind kisses
Heavy-lidded clouds
Liquid-drenched magic carpets
Wander, watch, and wait.
Robert Frost wrote a lovely poem about winter in America, where the season actually gets serious. So, by way of contrasting poems and countries, here is Frost's masterpiece, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening:
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Robert Frost wrote a lovely poem about winter in America, where the season actually gets serious. So, by way of contrasting poems and countries, here is Frost's masterpiece, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening:
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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