Image by Dan Fador from Pixabay
On top of the world
the tundra dreams a grass maze
shaped by wind-worn paths.
So often the place we inhabit influences our inner world more than is initially apparent on the surface. I see this in my daily life as someone who feels a strong connection with nature, but lives in a city.
Days pass where I can't get away from the hum of buses in the city centre and it builds a kind of pressure in my head that's hard to ignore. A trip to the park, or even better to the beach and dunes at Formby, relieves the pressure.
The hiss of wind through sand sedge and Marram grass, underpinned by the distant breath of the sea and rhythmic calls of Natterjack Toad as they languish in marshy pools in earthy gloaming as the sun dips to the horizon.
These are the sounds that settle me.
Perhaps I'm something of a throwback, but I think these types of connection with place in nature trigger something primordial within us. The peace that comes from connecting with nature is amplified because in the modern age we live so much in an artificial world.
Some people thrive in the artificial world of neon lights, computer screens, mirrored towers and concrete fields - but our origin comes from a much wilder world. One that returns with a nostalgic meditation that whispers of a freedom lost when we abide in places of nature.
I wrote the haiku in this post remembering a summer over 15 years ago when I visited the Lake District. On that trip we climbed to the peaks of many hills and I distinctly remember lying in the grass with my girlfriend at the time and listening to the breeze whisper through the maze of dancing grass.
I've found that it is often easy to reignite these feelings and memories of sense of place when writing poetry. Through the process of writing with a focus on a particular place memories trigger bodily sensation that spill out into metaphor and simile.
It's these illusive feelings that I was grasping for in the haiku On Top of the World.
The basic definition of Haiku is-- an objective, Japanese short poem based on a nature theme. Haiku should have three lines consisting of the following number of syllables per line-- five, then seven, then five.
True haiku should contain one or two images that have a simplicity and clarity that actually become transcendent. The analogy has been posited of Haiku as the artistic equivalent of the practice of Zen Buddhism. By reflecting a simple moment of perfection, one finds the universal moment.
The haiku in this post attempts to capture what Japanese Haiku masters call Karumi (軽み):
beauty in simplicity; poetic beauty reflected in its simplicity, free from preconceptions and moral judgment.
Wabi (侘寂)
the taste for frugal and natural things, rustic simplicity, freshness or silence; it can be applied to both natural and artificial objects, or even non-ostentatious elegance.
And Yūgen (幽玄):
a sense of wonder and mystery representing the state of mind produced by the inexplicable fascination of things, the feeling of an 'other' universe, full of mysterious unity.
To read more about the aesthetics of true haiku, and the difference between haiku and senryu, please check out my post: Haiku Vs Senryu - The Aesthetics of Form
All images in this post are either CC license, linked beneath the pic or designed by me. If you have enjoyed this Haiku, please check out my homepage 
