Inspired by Ese’s haiku as well as her beautiful introduction of who she is, a haiku poetess. Here is a description she shared about herself:
that every journey begins with a single step, laughter really is contagious and family isn’t a word but a sentence;
that there are no better antiques than old friends;
in a difficult climb to earn the view from the top of the mountain;
that when I am good I am very good, but somehow I seem to be better when I am bad;
in „The God Of Small Things”, „The Kite Runner” , „My Poor Marat” and „The Prophet” as much as I believe in „The Little Prince”;
in coffee, green tea, caramel ice-cream and crème brûlée;
in Indian summer, winter twilight and pouring rain;
that rugby is like war – easy to start, difficult to stop and impossible to forget;
in music of different forms, colors, tongues and rhythms;
that it takes two to tango…
I am a Believer.
I think our days would be more meaningful if everyone believed in something. Either yourself, a flight to the Moon or simply tomorrow. Viva La Vida!
Such wonderful words, such a wonderful poem … that’s who Ese is … a Believer …
After closing her WP weblog she started a new weblog on Tumblr (also called “Ese’s Voice”) and that’s the place where she often posts new haiku or re-blogs haiku from other wonderful haiku poets.
Here is her haiku that has inspired my haibun:
the dance of a falling leaf
with a snowflake
The first snowfall allows everyone to become a child again. And why not? As a child, you don’t worry about slippery roads or traffic jams. A child sees that moment…feeling it, smelling it and hearing it. Yes, one does hear the snow fall. Just listen carefully in the nighttime when all is totally still and sounds of the weight of all those snowflakes falling…not tinkles like that of rain but sounds of ten thousands marching ants …an ever so faint echo.
A child can close her eyes and imagines skating on a pond, under a clear sky; she’s a ballerina on ice. She dreams she is fast, strong yet elegant. Snow falls gently on the pond but not enough to hide the lines cut on the surface of the ice from the sharp blades of her skates, as she dances on the ice and pirouettes like une danseuse of the Nutcracker Prince.
that first snowflake
like a child, she squeals with joy
melts on her tongue
melts on her tongue
inevitably, another snowflake
on her nose
© Tournesol ’15/11/24