Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Cutting Short the Retreat

Thunder rolled around the hills
all night: drums and crashing cymbals.

My inflamed shoulder aches and stings
needing another new dressing.

We stumble awake into news:
the Sydney siege over. Three dead.

Half way through my retreat,
I’m pulled back to the world.


Monday, December 15, 2014

Changing Relationship


I have become to him more cat now. When we have cuddles, he will lick my fingers assiduously, much more than he used to — then will suddenly give a sharp little nibble. There would be more, but at that point I yelp and push him away. He goes, sulkily. I am still the Alpha.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

An Influx of Ants

I open my kitchen drawer, and leap back. It’s full of tiny ants. They can't be looking for water — it’s gently raining outside. So it must be going to be a hard summer. Usually we think of a hard winter; usually the ants come indoors looking for food in a hard winter. What is global warming doing?

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Eyes That Won't Meet Mine

'Are you a bee or a wasp?' I think at it. 

As if it senses my unease and responds, it rises from hovering near the jade plant at the edge of my front veranda and heads over to the bushes by the fence. I sip my coffee and read about writing haibun. 

A little later it returns. It lands on a jade leaf, walks underneath it, and strokes the upside with its fine front legs. 

'I'm glad to see you, bee,' I think this time. 

I know they are said to be dying out. If they do, it is further said, we shall all be doomed.

I contemplate the tree growing tall by my fence. I know it's a weed — one I didn't catch and pull out while it was still a baby, and look at it now! It's beautiful. It's hard to know how to serve Nature best.

The wind freshens, the thunder revs up. It's time to go inside. The rain will be humid.

in my living-room
the painting of an angel
a sweet sad face

Monday, December 8, 2014

The Comforts of the Body

Slowing down and taking time to observe my life, I notice and savour the comforts of the body; I dwell in them — the cushions at my back and behind my head, the warmth of the shoes on my feet, the aftertaste of my dinner, my breath moving easily out and in.