snow and icicles


03 one drop

midnight -
the icicles grow

01 foxes at night

ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo

06 early morning Buddha

early morning
meditation in snow
and sunshine


Enjoy my snow !
. . . My Album, form here to Number 11 !

. . . Read my Snow Haiku from yesterday



Anonymous said...

I like these, esp the second one because it warms my heart.


Anonymous said...

Wonderful images..... the first one is very clean and witty....


Anonymous said...

Unable to see
byond the nose he says
he meditates
and sees visions of Buddha
weeping for us

"Ram Krishna Singh"

Anonymous said...

cross-eyed Buddha--
seeing nothing beyond
the tip of his nose


Anonymous said...

Buddha in the snow--
beholding nothing not there,
the nothing that is

A haiku "cribbed" from what some have called the greatest short poem
in the English language, "The Snowman," by Wallace Stevens:

. . . . . The Snow Man
by Wallace Stevens

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place

For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Well, my excuse is that sometimes Basho also "cribbed" a haiku from a
Noh play or some other source.

Smilingly, Larry

Anonymous said...

a desert of snow
my thoughts all to myself
I return
to the fire in my heart
hidden in the cold wind

Being alone is a statement of fact. Seeing the nothing that is is an art, the beginning of creation. Sometimes we get distracted by what is, and forget what richness there is in emptiness and silence. We are something in ourselves, but sometimes it may relieve us to put that thought aside and join the elements. The problem is, we can't stop our awareness of our own thoughts. I think only the spirits who have truly moved on can do that.

Would it not be something if we were but pure thought? It is not death that is attractive, but the idea of being a secret fire in the snow.

snowy path
behind me the echoes
of other footprints

Ella Wagemakers

PS. Thanks, Larry, for an unexpected Zen moment!

Anonymous said...

Thanks to all for your comments and thoughts!

Icicles ... so fragile, so strong ...


Anonymous said...

on my fingertip
the snowflake's mote* --

*each snowflake starts with a mote of dust from which the ice crystal lattice anchors... the pattern can form with almost an infinite
variety... it is believed it is extremely rare to find two snowflake patterns identical... this is due to the water molecule's
construction in combination with the topology of the surface of the mote of dust...
in my fanciful imagination each snowflake is the fingerprint of an ice angel... these angels akin to those angels that fit on the head of a pin... hee hee.

Being extremely near-sighted gives me a micro-advantage in that most
surprising natural views are literally at the end of my nose.
I noticed the labyrinth shape of my index fingerprint as the snowflake's melt filled the swirl-pattern. There was a "remote"
chance that I saw the snowflake's mote... wink!

Keep warm all you snowbound poets of the northern hemisphere

Keep cool all you sunbound ones to the south

ciao... chibi

Anonymous said...

Very nice, Gabi.
I like your icicles especially.


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