Autumn Haiku

Fall's first full moon on Raspberry Ridge

Autumn’s first full moon
upstaged by earthly beauty
and a rusty truck.


NOTES:  We’re enjoying a gentle fall here in the Pacific Northwest.  Just a kiss or two of rain to save the grass.  Warm sunny days and cool nights.

We know the rains and clouds and grey will return and will be with us for months.  But for now we’re basking in our little illusion of heaven on earth.  Autumn flames and dies and winter comes.

Robert Frost says, “Nothing gold can stay.”

Gerard Manley Hopkins says, “It is the blight man was born for.”

I humbly say, “Soon, autumn’s chill will make the leaves fall down. All of this aching beauty will decay.”

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Classmate Haiku

Tom Nicholas addresses the MHS Class of 1970 class meeting

You exuded cool.
We all wanted to be you.
And now you’re gone.


NOTES:  With great sadness I learned yesterday of the loss of a classmate. Tom Nicholas grew his hair long and sported leather jackets before any of the rest of us. He seemed to float above the traditional cliques and intrigues of high school.

Tom was cool without being a jerk.

His passion was rock and roll, and he pursued it with zeal.  He got good,  Really good.  Played in some bands.  Cut some records.

When Tom’s band Estus put out its self-titled album in 1973, it included Marc Bell on drums.  Bell would go on to play in the Ramones for 15 years as Marky Ramone.

Tom would never make it big–  like fill-stadiums-big — but he could play guitar and sing like crazy.

THE DAY TOM SETTLED THE MATTER

My most vivid memory of Tom was from the only all-class meeting of our senior graduating class of 1970. (I first wrote about this incident in a post last March.)

We were debating a motion to eliminate Honor Stations, a tradition that recognized the male and female student who best exemplified one of 4 qualities: Most Industrious, Best Citizen, Most Courteous, and Best Sport.

This was the fall of 1969, and revolution was in the air.  The class immediately before us had voted to eliminate the position of Miss Fair Marshall, as it was considered a sexist relic of a bye-gone era. Now there was a push to finish the work of our predecessors and eliminate Honor Stations as a musty vestige from the past.

There may have been a person or two who spoke in opposition to doing away with Honor Stations.  Most of our classmates were still fairly conservative.

But I distinctly remember the debate ending after Tom stood up.

Tom strode forward, leaned into the microphone, and pronounced with authority, “We have a word for this.  It’s called ‘ego-trip.’” (That exact moment is preserved in the photo at the top of this page.)

That pretty much sealed the deal.  Honor Stations were ego trips.  The question was called, and the motion overwhelmingly carried.

The Class of 1970 had finished the work of the class that came before us.  We had killed off the Honor Stations and drained the pomp from “Pomp and Circumstance.”

But, for better or worse, I’m pretty sure that never would have happened had Tom not spoken up.

Rest in peace, dear classmate.

Eclipse Haiku

Day of the total eclipse

Fog, please go away.
(At least we won’t be tempted
to burn out our eyes.)


NOTES: It’ll be a close call whether or not we’ll be able to see the eclipse today on the Kitsap Peninsula.  The fog is expected to burn off and be gone just before — or after — the sun goes dark.

 

Forest Fire Haiku

Canada forest fires sent smoke south into Washington state

When Canada burns,
smoke paints the sky with color.
But we’re all coughing.


REPORT: More than a dozen wildfires burning across British Columbia have produced enough smoke to cover much of Western Washington, delaying flights into Sea-Tac and creating a white haze hanging in the sky.

Midsummer Haiku, Again


Midsummer sunset over the Olympics

The pasture is brown,
and snow has left the mountains.
But the sky. The sky!


NOTES:  Late summer signs are coming early to the Pacific Northwest this year.  This past winter we broke a 122 year record for rainfall in Seattle.  We got 44.67 inches of rain from October through April.  Which was the wettest such stretch since record-keeping began in 1895. (We rack up almost 9 inches in February alone.)

So, of course, we’re now working on a rainless record.   Nothing since June 17.

But not to worry.  This is the Pacific Northwest.  No matter how dry it gets this summer, we know that the rains will return in the fall and remain with us for what seems like forever.  So we can relax and appreciate the beauty around us.