White clover, dandelion, buttercup and wild violets line the pathway that I walk. Just between the path’s edge and the grass, golden, stringy pollen catkins, which have fallen from the oaks, collect themselves. A miniscule, yellow-tan butterfly alights on a branch of Cherokee rose, and a beetle crosses my path. As I climb the hill, the trees overshadow me, and I am grateful for their shielding from the hot sun. A chipmunk clambers over a log, and a robin, perched in a tree, flits away as I approach.
This is an autobiographical account. My phone was out of battery power or I would have taken my own woodsy photo. The theme this week for Tanka Tuesday, hosted by Colleen Chesebro of Word Craft Prose & Poetry, is “travel/journeys,” so I thought it worked perfectly with a haibun and another walk in the woods.
Photo by Susan Joy Clark, bridge in Verona Park, Verona, NJ
I want to take you on a virtual walk with me, inspired by Restless Jo’s Monday Walk, with a little haibun (Japanese poetic prose,) haiku, park photography and a little down-to-earth information about our experience.
On Saturday, I walked with a new doggy client, Luce (pronounced Loochay,) a handsome dog, a Brittany spaniel and dachshund mix. We walked through Verona Park in Verona, New Jersey, and as it was a nice day, the park was busy with people doing everything possible to do in the park: fishing, cycling, walking dogs, playing tennis, paddleboating and using the playground and the exercise stations around the walking path.
Luce, (pronounced Loo-chay,) a Brittany spaniel and dachshund mix
Haibun
We traipse along the paved path, Luce moving ahead of me, waving his tail like a feathery fan. We pull to the water’s edge where the sun glints against the smooth surface. The blurred reflection of the trees in the water resembles an impressionistic painting. A central fountain shoots its spray, creating a relaxing soundtrack, while distant swanboats glide through the pond.
Other swans dock at the shore, awaiting passengers, their beaks face to face, creating a heart in the negative space between them.
Intense pink dianthus greet us, lifting their frill-framed faces to the sun.
The shadows of the trees create lacy patterns on the wide stone path bordering the lake while a paddleboat floats under the arch of a stone bridge.
A cluster of irises grow at the water’s edge, their yellow teardrop petals drooping gracefully.
A weeping willow’s tendril-like branches sweep the water’s surface. They hang like a fairy maiden’s hair prepared for a wash. Its branches majestically arch and curl above the reflective water.
Luce, though placid, is drawn to the sight and smell of two ducks in the water.
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Luce and I had some refreshment at the Snack Shack at the boathouse after our walk. I had forgotten to bring water or a dog bowl, and as I was too distracted to notice the signs forbidding dogs on the dock, I carried Luce over to the Snack Shack order window. I bought a drink for myself and a bottled water and asked if they could give me a bowl for the dog. The kind employee at the window alerted me to the "no dogs" rule but provided a bowl for me. I thought they might have a disposable one, but he gave me a melamine plastic one. We sat at a nearby lakeside bench to refresh ourselves, but I didn't break the rules again in order to return the bowl, so I hope that they were able to retrieve it from where I left it. I appreciate the kindness of that employee.
Today, after we’ve had some rain, I took a walk in Mills Reservation in Cedar Grove, New Jersey, inspired by Restless Jo’s Monday Walk. I am just discovering the Japanese haibun form of poetic prose, and it seems to fit perfectly with hiking explorations, my desire to exercise and blog. I used to go on solo hikes with a book of poetry in my backpack, and this time, I went with a notebook, pen and phone camera. (This is not the haibun, just a more straightforward introduction.) 🙂
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The wet earth squelches beneath my feet as I walk. Birds greet each other with song, twitters and squawks as I walk beneath the trees, filtering sunlight. Tall, slender trees tower above me, the sun creating interesting patterns of chiaroscuro among their leaves. For a few moments, I sit, pen in hand, on a damp stone near the stream. The active water gurgles as it flows, and the air smells sweet and earthy.
I rise and continue along the path. The hollow-sounding tattoo of a woodpecker echoes through the forest. Nervous blackbirds scatter and take flight.
The ground is so wet in places that my gait is strange, as I stretch my foot across to a flat rock or a drier spot. When I reach a place where water runs across the path like a stream, I hop across on stones.
Fallen trees abound, the shapes of their branches weaving a tangled design.
Some are overgrown with moss or lichen or climbing plants. Even before I approach a fallen pine, I detect its aroma in the air.
Trees see their reflection in the still water, while, across the path, water trickles and falls over branches and stones, a waterfall in miniature.
