My Journal Prompt exercise: As I step into the evening air at the front of the house I hear the familiar rumble of combine harvesters at work in the fields around the village. It is the second day without rain and the harvest is in full swing. I walk to the end of my road and see them up on the hillside crawling up and dow the field with a constant thrum of engines, something like the sound of rock fall or far away thunder. On top of this, the territorial screeching of seagulls; a slicing, torn sound, ripping through the evening. I stand still, tuning my ears, waiting for something else and then there is the humpf-lowing of a bull some fields away, and the answering throaty baa of sheep. A slight breeze lifts the beech leaves, a background gentle shush, a lullaby of trees.
Seven years in junior school and it was their last afternoon. Year six had done their exams, spent a few days on the Isle of Wight and finished the term by rehearsing and performing an excellent musical play.
Staff who had taught them since Reception
formed a guard of honour
as the leavers came out of school, wearing white shirts covered with the signatures of their friends. Some were struggling to hold back the tears, others quietly weeping, many of the girls sobbing - the move to high school, so excitedly anticipated, overshadowed for the moment by the sadness of goodbyes.
We parents and grandparents were little better. Two or three times a week Granddad and I had been taking and fetching him,
watching him learn, grow, increase in confidence. We'd stood on that playground in all weathers,
waiting for the opening of the doors and the excited chatter of the emerging children, a sound we will never hear again.
This August, for him, is a time of transition, from childhood to puberty and to all the new challenges that high school will bring. For us, it's a time of memories, of trying to adapt to old age and its limitations.
You've really caught that moment of accomplishment running alongside the sadness of an ending here Jenni. I can almost hear the chatter carrying over the school field on the wind. x
You made great use of Wendy's prompts and Mary Oliver's August poem. The haibun form works well , and the strong haiku at the end sums it all up.. The subject matter is heart-felt and relatable.
Thank you, Wendy, for this delicious summer banquet I will be feasting on it for quite some time to come. And I have remembered 7 distinct August thunderstorms (dating from the mid 1960s to early this century) in the last few minutes. I will get writing on Sunday.
And another has just resurfaced! Bizarrely, I can even remember some of the clothes I was wearing during the storms. Not so surprising for the one that happened during my wedding reception, I suppose, but I also remember peeling off a particular top after getting soaked to the skin in August 1968 and the trousers I was wearing when lightning hit the ground with a terrifying sizzle just feet away from where I was cycling in August 79.
This works great Jenni (and we're getting weather like this for the last two weeks). I especially like - "but twisting, turning/like a living thing,/sinuous, mercurial,". The long shape and short lines makes me think of a downpour or even lightning!
I'm still thinking about the journaling exercise. So far my sounds are: a nearby crow in a tree conversing with crows further away; a young kid across the street screeching and his mother replying; the singing of a song sparrow; the sound of tree leaves played by a breeze. p.s. I like that Mary Oliver poem very much ('August') - the use of the form and how she brings in the Van Gogh painting.
I love the sound of crows. We have a lot of jackdaws round us. Once heard someone describe them making a sound ‘like snooker balls on the break.’ And yes, that Mary Oliver poem! Just one reference to the poem and the poem takes on a deeper, more desperate edge.
I like the poem, too, Elly. I've tried the garden twice. There are usually song thrushes, blackbirds and a robin singing but all I can hear at the moment is the cooing of wood pigeons!
My Journal Prompt exercise: As I step into the evening air at the front of the house I hear the familiar rumble of combine harvesters at work in the fields around the village. It is the second day without rain and the harvest is in full swing. I walk to the end of my road and see them up on the hillside crawling up and dow the field with a constant thrum of engines, something like the sound of rock fall or far away thunder. On top of this, the territorial screeching of seagulls; a slicing, torn sound, ripping through the evening. I stand still, tuning my ears, waiting for something else and then there is the humpf-lowing of a bull some fields away, and the answering throaty baa of sheep. A slight breeze lifts the beech leaves, a background gentle shush, a lullaby of trees.
Lovely description, especially the 'slicing, torn sound' of the seagulls and the bull's 'humf-lowing'.
Enjoyed all the sounds in this description of an evening! Thanks :-)
Transition, a Haibun
Seven years in junior school and it was their last afternoon. Year six had done their exams, spent a few days on the Isle of Wight and finished the term by rehearsing and performing an excellent musical play.
Staff who had taught them since Reception
formed a guard of honour
as the leavers came out of school, wearing white shirts covered with the signatures of their friends. Some were struggling to hold back the tears, others quietly weeping, many of the girls sobbing - the move to high school, so excitedly anticipated, overshadowed for the moment by the sadness of goodbyes.
We parents and grandparents were little better. Two or three times a week Granddad and I had been taking and fetching him,
watching him learn, grow, increase in confidence. We'd stood on that playground in all weathers,
waiting for the opening of the doors and the excited chatter of the emerging children, a sound we will never hear again.
This August, for him, is a time of transition, from childhood to puberty and to all the new challenges that high school will bring. For us, it's a time of memories, of trying to adapt to old age and its limitations.
enforced transition
from dependability
to dependence
You've really caught that moment of accomplishment running alongside the sadness of an ending here Jenni. I can almost hear the chatter carrying over the school field on the wind. x
Oh my goodness! Thank you.
You made great use of Wendy's prompts and Mary Oliver's August poem. The haibun form works well , and the strong haiku at the end sums it all up.. The subject matter is heart-felt and relatable.
Thank you so much, Elly.
Thank you, Wendy, for this delicious summer banquet I will be feasting on it for quite some time to come. And I have remembered 7 distinct August thunderstorms (dating from the mid 1960s to early this century) in the last few minutes. I will get writing on Sunday.
And another has just resurfaced! Bizarrely, I can even remember some of the clothes I was wearing during the storms. Not so surprising for the one that happened during my wedding reception, I suppose, but I also remember peeling off a particular top after getting soaked to the skin in August 1968 and the trousers I was wearing when lightning hit the ground with a terrifying sizzle just feet away from where I was cycling in August 79.
I’d love to hear about the lightning strike, and the wedding storm!
A cheat because I wrote it when it happened, a few weeks ago, but this is vaguely connected to 'thunderstorm'.
Cloudburst
The day was hot, breathing difficult,
exertion intolerable -
then the faint stirring of a breeze,
a darkening sky,
a flash of light,
a distant rumble,
at last, the longed-for deluge.
Shimmering spangles
cascaded down the motorhome's windscreen
like the plastic wrapping
around cans,
but twisting, turning
like a living thing,
sinuous, mercurial,
a touch of magic.
'sinuous, mercurial' this is beautiful.
😮
This works great Jenni (and we're getting weather like this for the last two weeks). I especially like - "but twisting, turning/like a living thing,/sinuous, mercurial,". The long shape and short lines makes me think of a downpour or even lightning!
I will get writing!
I'm still thinking about the journaling exercise. So far my sounds are: a nearby crow in a tree conversing with crows further away; a young kid across the street screeching and his mother replying; the singing of a song sparrow; the sound of tree leaves played by a breeze. p.s. I like that Mary Oliver poem very much ('August') - the use of the form and how she brings in the Van Gogh painting.
I love the sound of crows. We have a lot of jackdaws round us. Once heard someone describe them making a sound ‘like snooker balls on the break.’ And yes, that Mary Oliver poem! Just one reference to the poem and the poem takes on a deeper, more desperate edge.
That snooker balls simile is surprising and catches the strong calls and interactions of crows calling each other to and fro. I did end up making a poem using crows communicating and even though nobody under 60 would have direct experience about old crank phones and party lines, I made use of the different rings for the party line as a comparison to crow calls to each other :-D https://www.pressconnects.com/story/news/connections/history/2019/01/19/spanning-time-when-phones-meant-hand-cranks-operators-and-party-lines/2608702002/
I like the poem, too, Elly. I've tried the garden twice. There are usually song thrushes, blackbirds and a robin singing but all I can hear at the moment is the cooing of wood pigeons!