Tag Archives: Trees

‘environment day’ in WKD

environment day –
green leaves turn
to gold
Written in response to the following news:
Gold in trees leads to hidden deposits
By Rebecca Morelle

“Money might not grow on trees, but scientists have confirmed that gold is found in the leaves of some plants.
Researchers from Australia say that the presence of the particles in a eucalyptus tree’s foliage indicates that deposits are buried many meters below.
They believe that the discovery offers a new way to locate the sought-after metal in difficult-to-reach locations.”

I shared this poem on FB Joys of Japan 24 October 2013
Gabi Greve added it to her World Kigo Database (WKD), an educational reference site for haiku, cultural keywords and kigo, under “worldwide saijiki”,
Environment Day

***** Location: Worldwide
***** Season: Autumn
***** Category: Observance

The Tree (Haibun)

The Tree

Sitting under a mulberry tree by the sea, in Alexandroupolis, Greece, near the border with Turkey, I stare across the sparkling water. A melancholy mood is sapping my energy. The ferry to Samothraki makes me wish to travel further on, but I know I’ve come far enough. This place, at the intersection of continents, symbolizes the crossroads in my own life, leaving behind my youth and entering middle age. I need a push, something to give me strength to take the next step.

I must have fallen asleep because when I come to dusk is falling like rain. I rub my eyes. The town lights flicker simultaneously with their reflections on the water. The notes of a flute pierce the air.

I muse about the times this town has passed between the Bulgarians, the Greeks, the Turks, the Russians; shudder at the thought of how much blood has been spilled. And yet humanity continues, the spirit survives whoever the ruler, whatever the belief. I realize the smallness of my own problem, the disease of vanity and self-preoccupation.

A crow lands next to me. We eye each other for a minute or two, then he flies away. Feeling a sense of acceptance wash over me, I walk to my Pension. The hostess noticing the lifting of my mood offers me a theory about what happened.

“It must have been the dervish, the Holy man of the fifteenth century,” she says. “He spent his days under a tree… he is buried there…”

“They buried him under his tree?”

“They say he still heals those who go to sit under it.”

“Is that the Mulberry tree…?” I start, trying to locate ‘my’ tree for her.

She shrugs, and then I know it does not matter.


in the salty air

a single leaf from his book –

dove with crow

In Contemporary Haibun Online, January 2012