rain-drenched fields
a single poppy glows
in fading light

dusk-filled reeds

swallows dart in and out

of the mist

*

mrak v ločju

lastovke švigajo

v in iz megle

vetroven dan
vrana pristane v vonj
pokošene trave

vegetable market
a sparrow flat-hats
with a stolen pea

opoldanska vročina
vrbov puh lebdi
v zvokih pozavne

yellow flags
a damselfly alights
on my sneaker

siv dan
riba popade
meglico

change

shower

billowing clouds
caught in a shower
of horse chestnut blossom

last man standing

gust of wind
a willow releases
its seeds

*

sunek vetra
vrba mu preda
svoja semena

standing in the glade
our eyes meet
gracefully
the doe blends

with the forest

morning coffee
i listen to the chat
of sparrows and crows

*

jutranja kava
prisluhnem klepetu
vrabčkov in vran

change

mid-may eve
the sunset smells
of dog rose

*

majski večer
sončni zahod zadiši
po šipku

for Borut :)

i didn't manage to take the photo of those ducks in the sunset, but here's another one...

may breeze
the wish
you never made

10 ducklings

cupped

overcast sky
loud croaking fills
the reeds

wind in the treetops
urges me to move off
the trodden path
in dappled sunlight I find
swirling butterflies

reaching for the moon

lunch break dreamtime
a man in the street plays
didgeridoo

survival

what are you looking at?

no haiku today, just this photo of a wood pigeon (columba palumbus)

fleeting

a story told gazillion times

blossoming season
storm clouds fill the horizon
as we gently touch
falling in love with a man
loved by another woman

happy hour

party over
dazed moths
under the lamp

***

konec zabave
omamljene vešče
pod žarometom

do not disturb

stone fence
snail trail leads
towards the shade

***

kamnita ograda
polževa sled vodi
na senčno stran

transformation

shifting clouds
a turtle
becomes a bird

ambulance siren
a butterfly flutters
above the street

***

sirena rešilca
metulj se spreletava
nad ulico

bark beetle's art

cold

One of the previous posts by floots reminded me of the following experience dating some time in the early 1980's. I'm not sure about this, it would probably need some revising or at least proofreading, but i'm posting it as is. However, any comment or suggestion is very welcome.


Saturday, March 5, 5 p.m.
Right now we should be running out onto the court, beginning our warm-up for the match. Instead, we are stuck here, on the road, in the middle of nowhere. Standing still for about 12 hours already, the blizzard not relenting a bit. Limbs ache from all kinds of uncomfortable positions. Cold sinks in. The heating has been out for hours. And the wind... you could hear it, see it, feel it, taste it.

Friday, March 4, 7 p.m.
A dozen young tallish women embark on a bus, followed by a few men: a basketball team on a mission. Just as we reach the outskirts of the town, one of the men tells the driver to pull up. »Have you guys any idea where Split is? I'm off!« And he disappears into the drizzle.

Saturday, March 5, 8 p.m.
By now we should be out of the locker rooms, showered, refreshed, heading for dinner in the hotel. Instead, we haven't eaten for hours, all the food supplies gone. The cold gets unbearable, despair creeps in. We squeeze tight to each other, seeking some comfort, trying to preserve as much warmth as possible.

Sunday, March 6, 1 a.m.
Something is happening! Faint light from the opposite side, followed by a huge plough breaking its way through the snowdrifts. Rescued at last!

Sunday, March 6, 5 a.m.
Somewhere on the Adriatic coast, waiting for the petrol station to open. The wind is relentless. I'm awakened by my own chattering teeth. These last few hours before the daybreak seem endless.

Sunday, March 6, 11 a.m.
Reaching Karlobag, we are stopped by a road block. Black ice, they say. Starved, we try to find some place to eat. A nearly impossible task! The small coastal town is almost deserted out of season. Finally we stumble upon an inn. Yes, they can make us ham and eggs. The food is greasy and it tastes bad, but we eat anyway. They even sell us some waffles. Finally the block is removed and we move on.

Sunday, March 6, 7 p.m.
Home at last! We'll have to play that darned match some other time.

taste of salt
the train's clatter
lulls me to sleep

new

may day
an old man speaks
of butterflies