It didn’t rain yesterday and the grass dried out sufficiently for me to cut it with the little electric mower. At the very last the dear old thing started making odd graunchy noises, making me fear that it’s not long for this world.
It’s been a pretty good little worker, though, right from the very first day:
A sturdy little mower. July 2005
On Graham’s suggestion I shall give the grass another cut in two or three days in the interest of tidiness, the little beast and weather permitting. Either way, I think this’ll be the last grass cutting exercise for me this year.
I’m cross-posting my daily haiku to the writing group, mainly in response to an appeal to the membership for greater participation. As always, there’s been little response to the appeal, but a spatter of messages came over the wires regarding yesterday’s ‘haiku’. So many words written about so few!
I can’t be doing with debates about what haiku is, and what it isn’t. Been there, done that, and it’s another activity on the growing list of things I no longer do. I tried to say how I feel about the subject:
First, haiku is not poetry. Second, it’s best played without rules, providing you’ve studied them. Third, haiku are very seldom enjoyed by tennis players, who need a net. Fourth, far too many words are written about haiku and, if there is any conclusion to be drawn from them, it has escaped me.
Like a butterfly glimpsed from the corner of the eye, a haiku is a moment of enjoyment. Nothing more. Nothing less.
John:)
I shall maintain a mysterious silence on it from now on. But I’ll keep on trying to open my ‘haiku eyes’ each morning, and writing down the results.
~~+~~
haiku flying
high over the hill
old poet smiles
~~+~~
