Sluderno - August 29, 2014

among the herbs
 chickens growing plump
at Sluderno

walking in Sluderno
tiny gardens grow wild
herbs and flowers

For Carpe Diem's Little Ones:

"anew episode of our "Little Creatures"-feature and after two episodes about little insects, this episode is about little plants and flowers e.g. Sheperd's Purse as we can read in this haiku by Basho (1644-1694):

 furu hata ya nazuna hana saku kakine kana
if you look closely
a sheperd's purse flowering
underneath the hedge
(c) Matsuo Basho (Tr. Tim Chilcott)

  furudera ya hôroku suteru seri no naka

ancient temple
clay pot tossed around
in the seri (*)  field

© Buson (Tr. Chèvrefeuille)
(*) Seri = Oenanthe javanica = water dropwort

 "Seri is one of the seven sacred herbs of spring which are used in the spring festival "Nanakusa no Sekku" or "The Festival of Herbs". It happens to be that the Sheperd's Purse, in the haiku by Basho, also is one of the Seven Sacred Herbs of Spring"

in the meadow
peeling the leaves of daisies,
does she loves me?

© Chèvrefeuille

Carpe Diem's Little Creatures - August 16, 2014

A new feature at Carpe Diem Haiku Kai is dedicated to Issa and "the little creatures" like fleas, flies and spiders ...or may crickets and grasshoppers:

giddy grasshopper
take care...do not leap and crush
these pearls of dewdrop

© Issa (source)

how pitiful!
underneath the helmet
a cricket chirping.

© Basho (Tr. Ueda)

deep silence
this lazy summer evening -
song of a cricket

© Chèvrefeuille

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

 upon the branch
observing diligently
the bumblebee

all along the lake
ephemeral creatures fly
gnats and mosquitos

one short month
the life of the butterfly
fluttering merrily by

the mayfly's short life
a world in one day's span
the great trout passes*

© G.s.k. '14

*  The shortest-lived creatures on the Disc were mayflies, which barely make it through twenty-four hours.
Two of the oldest zigzagged aimlessly over the waters of a trout stream, discussing history with some
younger members of the evening hatching.
“You don’t get the kind of sun now that you used to get, “ said one of them.
“You’re right there. We had proper sun in the good old hours. It were all yellow. None of this red stuff.”
“It were higher, too.”
“It was. You’re right.”
“And nymphs and larvae showed you a bit of respect.”
“They did. They did,” said the other mayfly vehemently.
“I reckon, if mayflies these hours behaved a bit better, we’d still be having proper sun.”
The younger mayflies listened politely.
“I remember, “ said one of the oldest mayflies, “when all this was fields, as far as you could see.”
The younger mayflies looked around.
“It’s still fields,” one of them ventured, after a polite interval.
“I remember when it was better fields,” said the old mayfly sharply.
“Yeah, “ said his colleague. “And there was a cow.”
“That’s right! You’re right! I remember that cow! Stood right over there for, oh, forty, fifty minutes. It was brown, as I recall.”
“You don’t get cows like that these hours.”
“You don’t get cows at all.”
“What’s a cow?” said one of the hatchlings.
“See?” said the oldest mayfly triumphantly. “That’s modern Ephemeroptera for you. “ It paused. “What were we doing before we were talking about the sun?”
“Zigzagging aimlessly over the water,” said one of the young flies. This was a fair bet in any case.
“No, before that.”
“Er . . . you were telling us about the Great Trout.”
“Ah. Yes. Right. The Trout. Well, you see, if you’ve been a good mayfly, zigzagging up and down
properly -”
“- taking heed of your elders and betters -”
“- yes, and taking heed of your elders and betters, then eventually the Great Trout -”
Clop
Clop
“Yes?” said one of the younger mayflies.
There was no reply.
“The Great Trout what?” said another mayfly, nervously.
They looked down at a series of expanding concentric rings on the water.
“The holy sign!” said a mayfly. ”I remember being told about that! A Great Circle in the water! Thus shall be the sign of the Great Trout!”
The oldest of the young mayflies watched the water thoughtfully. It was beginning to realise that, as the most senior fly present, it now had the privilege of hovering closest to the surface.
“They say, “ said the mayfly at the top of the zigzagging crowd, “that when the Great Trout comes for you, you go to a land flowing with . . . flowing with . . .”
Mayflies don’t eat. It was at a loss. ”Flowing with water, “ it finished lamely.
“I wonder, “ said the oldest mayfly.
“It must be really good there, “ said the youngest.
“Oh? Why?”
“ ‘Cos no-one ever wants to come back.”

 © Terry Pratchett  from "Reaper Man"