the dharma blog

June Haibun: 30 days

Greg — Wed, 01 Jul 2009 04:50:31 +0000

Night air like heaven
Weekends like only kids know
Light that never fails

I wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt when I walked Lola this morning. The skies and the lake were gray again and the air was cool. I realized that observations of weather are an insignificant way of marking the passage of seasons.

As summer settles in and reaches its apex around here with the Fourth of July, I become less interested in the details of its progression. But, in doing so, I believe I become more present and fully live in–if not obsessively appreciate–the moment.

This is the time when the lilies and lupines bloom, when the shy flowers on hostas start to show up. The geese and ducks in the area are all but invisible. They stay in their ponds, the juveniles almost indistinguishable from the adults, all of them feeding and resting.

The asparagus we put on the grill tonight was thick, its time is almost over. The ephemeral Hexes are probably done; Tricos should start to show up in the cool early mornings after hot days. The clouds of insects will writhe 100 feet above trout streams in the beams of first light.

Like any month, June is a transition. Nothing is permanent and we travel through each year via the seasons.

This I celebrate:
Water, memory, sunlight
Ache for it each day

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June Haibun: Dénouement

Greg — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 04:15:31 +0000

The weekend spent canoeing on the St. Croix River at the middle of the month was the most like my dreams of June.

Sunlight on water
Afternoon waves on rock shores
Move slowly upstream

A surprisingly wild little park that I lived 15 minutes from as a kid, and live 15 minutes from on the other side today, has been a frequent respite in all seasons.

Brushy summer woods
Damp soil under tall trees
Sunshine and moonlight

From quiet natural environs, I was thrust back into the cities that have been my home for more than 10 years now.

Remember this place
Bridges over the river
Always see new sights

Then the heat and humidity arrived. This year I particularly noticed how the water in the atmosphere seemed to refract and amplify the intense sun of the solstice season.

Hot car at 5:10
Windows down all the way home
Get there, rush inside

Father’s Day weekend was the solstice and the Twins played and there was a big classic car show so the city at night was filled with them cruising up and down the avenues and then we went to the river for a warm rainy afternoon.

People line the streets
Car radios blast music
Gentle waves all day

Mid and late June is the season for the giant Hexagenia mayfly, which trout feed on nocturnally; the brave angler pursues the fish in the damp dark hours of dusk.

Drive through farm country
We go down to the river
I like the journey

The long sunlight of the solstice is one of my favorite parts of summer. The fireflies in Gabe’s backyard are a much less predictable blessing.

A show for no one
No explanation needed
No sound but the sun

I’m exhausted by this writing, but it’s the good kind of tired like that felt after making the most of a beautiful month with moments of joy and moments of calm. These have been the moments of clarity.

Radio plays soft
Type at the kitchen counter
Each word comes slowly

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June Haibun: Surplus

Greg — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 05:39:08 +0000

It truly is an exhausting season. I’ll never deny that. I don’t know how people in more moderate climates keep going year-round. Despite the sunshine filtering through the leaves on the trees, despite a cool afternoon breeze, despite wandering to and fro on a Sunday afternoon with no obligation except the next destination, I can’t help my mind wandering to calmer days of autumn.

It’s probably just my introvert nature, though. After periods of sociability I need solitude, and the summer tends to throw that balance completely off. Maybe that’s why I fit in here so well, though I don’t know how that explains my craving for days just like this in the depths of winter. I suppose there are other more obvious explanations, and it really is all about appreciating and understanding the cycles and patterns of life.

It seems like water restores that balance. Rather than washing away the stress, being in a river or a lake merges me with the universe, connects my core to the larger forces at work.

Long days of sunshine
Pull me along like a current
Sleep in sweet moonlight

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June Haibun: Downtown

Greg — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 07:07:29 +0000

The big dipper hung over the bluffs of downtown Stillwater tonight. The river flowed by slowly, a black and silent body of water where the activities of us humans on its edges failed to even penetrate the surface. The thumping bass lines and the flashing lights of the riverside bar seemed all the louder and brighter for the silent and dark river in front of us.

We walked up and down Main Street, talking and laughing, other parties doing the same, but the sky and the river were unimpressed.

Grass and gravel underfoot
Bright skinny moon overhead
I look up and down

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June Haibun: Fallen starlight

Greg — Sat, 27 Jun 2009 07:07:40 +0000

On my drive out to Gabe’s house about an hour before sunset tonight the sun laid on the landscape like a warm yellow blanket. The long shadows in sharp relief to the bright golden light only added to the effect, and it seemed to me like the sun was coaxing the thick green foliage out of the earth.

Dusk fell as we got the coals started. We sat in lawn chairs and sipped beers and watched the unused pasture behind the house, hoping to spot the first pinhead flash of light in the grasses. The time came and went when they had first shown the night before, and there was no sign. Perhaps it had not been hot enough today, perhaps it was too dry.

Then, with the steaks on the grill, I was talking to his mom when I saw a flash over her shoulder. Then another one showed up a few yards away. Then another and another and then the whole pasture was pulsating with the fireflies’ light.

We had a long talk about the worries and conflicts of life, standing at the edge of the yard, watching the show. It took a long time for the last glow to leave the western sky, but eventually it did and then it was just the silhouette of the trees along the creek and the hundreds of blinking bugs just above the tall grasses.

After we ate, they were still there. We made a big fire and sat facing the field, the phenomenon still in full swing, talking and sitting in silence, periodically. Then we walked a ways into the pasture so they were all around us. There were a few glowworms on the ground too and we walked along peering into the grasses, trying to spot them. This was a new sight for me, it was like little leaks of light escaping the earth underneath our feet.

There was nothing but the lights around and below and above us. Cars went by occasionally on the highway; the fireflies made no sound despite their need for attention. I thought about how I’d have to leave soon. It was late and I planned to get up early. But I stayed a while longer, because it won’t be firefly season forever.

Dew settles at dusk
A field full of fireflies
Dark barely holds on

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June Haibun: Hold On

Greg — Fri, 26 Jun 2009 04:48:19 +0000

I walked Lola by the lake one morning at the beginning of the month.

Cool sweatshirt morning
The water still waking up
Gray clouds and quiet

I thought back on memories of recent seasons, drives up north and paddles downstream.

Sunny green summers
Puffy clouds and warm water
No sweat and no bugs

June still concealed in cold, wet weather, memory continued to hold my imagination. I recalled more days of water.

Leave early for trout
Childhood days in hidden creeks
Sun on a lost beach

Katie and I cooked dinners of seasonable produce and meat on the grill.

Sirloin on special
Asparagus and flowers
Food from farmers

Work took me to northern forests for a couple days.

Drive forgotten roads
Always one more curve or hill
Stop to study rocks

At the middle of the month, we joined friends for a weekend of canoeing and camping on the St. Croix.

Long summer daylight
Swim in clean river water
White morning fog

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June Haibun: In transit

Greg — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 04:35:21 +0000

I sailed into work today. No traffic. That’s my reward for oversleeping. Then I left Minneapolis after lunch for a meeting at a café in St. Paul. The meeting went pretty well and then I drove down Summit Ave. to stop at the market for some groceries. Unidentified flowering trees were shedding fragrant blossoms on the sidewalks. After a few hours at home, we left to go back to Minneapolis. Jeff Buckley’s “Hallelujah” came on the radio and as I drove along the relatively quiet I-94, I felt myself slowly unwind. A bit later, we drove from the Longfellow neighborhood up West River Road in the gray green blue of summer dusk. Finally, we drove home along University Ave. and then up Highway 280, through summer construction. The drive culminated with the short dark winding stretch of Frost Ave. that I love driving at night in the summer with my hand out the window.

One hand on the wheel
Mark Wheat on the radio
Narrate my own life

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June Haibun: The hex

Greg — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 03:38:49 +0000

The first time I fished the Hexagenia hatch, we left for the river when the day was already waning. And then, we were in no rush to get there. We went up and down the river to a couple different access points and then ended up at an acquaintance’s house on a bluff. He gave us a plastic cup with a lemonade cocktail in it and we set off along a narrow path down to the river.

It was a warm and sticky evening. Dusk was now falling and fog was already settling in the tall grasses on the banks. Stepping into the river, the water was cool and smooth. The day was lost in dark blue and gray now. We walked up to the base of a calm pool where we could hear, but not see, trout rising.

the light fades to sound
mammoth flies struggle skyward
my line lays gentle

-thanks to my friend Ed for those last two lines.

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Post tags: fly fishing, june haibun

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June Haibun: Space between the stars

Greg — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 04:10:20 +0000

We have moved through the rain and into the hot and the humid. This too is part of June. We have arrived here only after experiencing a litany of other type of June weathers. From the cold and rainy to the mild and dry to warm and stormy to this, this hot and still. There is no sign of this heat lifting in the near future. In fact, tomorrow is predicted hotter and wetter.

The season now teaches us that, though the air is thick, life is only and entirely a series of moments. Breathe in this, soak it in through your pores, let the sweat run down your forehead, let the water in your body merge with the water in the atmosphere, seek icy creeks, seek cold beer, seek the present moment and seek the next.

We may be forgiven for spending our winters waiting. We may forgive ourselves for cold, dark nights under blankets. Even great bears hibernate. We may even think back fondly on such silence, such survival. But June is not a month to waste. No, this month demands appreciation, even on days when your shirt sticks to your back, when the sun scalds the sidewalk.

So I slow and I stop and I say that it is not the sight but the witness, any season of the year. It is observing the unique and meditating upon it, understanding how the Earth affects my life and wondering why it is so.

Hot upstairs
Bathe in the cold bathtub
Listen to old songs

ps – the title is inspired by my friend nikki.

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June Haibun: More than I will ever know

Greg — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 04:09:03 +0000

Today was the longest day of the year, but it was cloudy and it rained all day. It didn’t exactly feel like the pinnacle of summer. There was no infinite sunlight and no brilliant sunset.

Even so, we joined Katie’s family for a Father’s Day boat ride on the lower St. Croix. It rained off and on so we kept the bimini up and huddled underneath it for the most part, sipping drinks and snacking, enjoying the much-reduced boat traffic on the river.

The river and its valley are very broad there, flanked by well-proportioned bluffs of hardwoods mixed with white pines, cabins and homes generally concealed in the woods. Cruising along the banks, I wonder about the little beaches with fire pits and volleyball nets under arching cottonwoods. In such an expansive place, I can look around and see in just that one glance more than I will ever know.

We anchored at the outlet of a nameless coulée where the sand extended into the river. When the rain let up, I wandered around the sandbar with Lola splashing around too. The saturated air made a view of any distance up or down the river valley a picture of haziness, merging the colors of the green river banks, the blue river and the gray sky into a romantic and mysterious vista.

Later, we grilled dinner at Katie’s parents’ house. The rain really came down while we tended the grill. I stood talking with her dad and her brother under big patio umbrellas. It was still perfectly warm and the rain fell straight down. The trees and other foliage couldn’t have been a darker shade of green and I appreciated that this too is part of summer.

Birds call from the bluffs
Waves lap against sandy shores
I swim in the river

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