Street still in slumber Branches etched against the dawn Orange persimmons glow
A challenge to write a winter haiku brings to mind Tokyo in the winter of 1988, my first date with Japan. From an icy window on the 3rd floor of a non-descript building on a street undistinguished from others, my gaze is captivated each morning by a row of bare trees across the street, each one a stark but delicate tracery against the backdrop of a monotonous facade. The cold garbs the distance between me and the trees in a muffle of grey while snow falls in an endless loop from the unbroken cloud cover above. Swirls of fog cling to the lower trunks like jealous lovers. An occassional crow, glossy and raucous, punctuates the serenity and is gone. The world is black and white. But for one thing. Persimmons glowing a fiendish orange hang from the sumi-e strokes of the branches, each a glowing harvest moon, each a little pumpkin light for Halloween, a bit of fire encased in an amber globe, a dollop of sunset, an ochre dab from a painter's palette... the only spot of color in a world gone monochrome. The only beacon in a cold, grey sea.
Posted by Jeanne Belisle Lombardo
December 10, 2003
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winter sunrise persimmons still on the trees begin to glow
Comment by: Larry. Posted January 29, 2004 03:39 AM.
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A challenge to write a winter haiku recalls the painterly quality of persimmons.