I’m watching my wife and daughters rehearsing the Christmas revels. I sit in the back row. The players are dressed in Scottish kilts and regalia. They sing a combination of Christmas carols and traditional Scottish tunes. I’ve always loved the unadorned music of the Irish and the Scots. Must be in my blood.
I see a little girl,
Across the street she skips.
I wonder who someday
Will be the one to kiss her lips.
I see a little boy
Who runs in circles round.
I wonder who she’ll be
Will turn his spinning upside down.
Let happiness be theirs
Though sorrow’s in every smile;
Their world be free of cares
If only for a little while.
I wrote this on the spur of the moment–tonight. And I can’t write anything that’s not a little bittersweet. I’ve been reading Buson’s haiku, different yet as memorable as Basho’s. They can be very simple–and sometimes deceptively so.
····the Milky Way—the roadway
Once again I’ve come home too late at night. I may sleep in a little, again.
37: December 13th 2015 | bottlecap