cold
One of the previous posts by floots reminded me of the following experience dating some time in the early 1980's. I'm not sure about this, it would probably need some revising or at least proofreading, but i'm posting it as is. However, any comment or suggestion is very welcome.
Saturday, March 5, 5 p.m.
Right now we should be running out onto the court, beginning our warm-up for the match. Instead, we are stuck here, on the road, in the middle of nowhere. Standing still for about 12 hours already, the blizzard not relenting a bit. Limbs ache from all kinds of uncomfortable positions. Cold sinks in. The heating has been out for hours. And the wind... you could hear it, see it, feel it, taste it.
Friday, March 4, 7 p.m.
A dozen young tallish women embark on a bus, followed by a few men: a basketball team on a mission. Just as we reach the outskirts of the town, one of the men tells the driver to pull up. »Have you guys any idea where Split is? I'm off!« And he disappears into the drizzle.
Saturday, March 5, 8 p.m.
By now we should be out of the locker rooms, showered, refreshed, heading for dinner in the hotel. Instead, we haven't eaten for hours, all the food supplies gone. The cold gets unbearable, despair creeps in. We squeeze tight to each other, seeking some comfort, trying to preserve as much warmth as possible.
Sunday, March 6, 1 a.m.
Something is happening! Faint light from the opposite side, followed by a huge plough breaking its way through the snowdrifts. Rescued at last!
Sunday, March 6, 5 a.m.
Somewhere on the Adriatic coast, waiting for the petrol station to open. The wind is relentless. I'm awakened by my own chattering teeth. These last few hours before the daybreak seem endless.
Sunday, March 6, 11 a.m.
Reaching Karlobag, we are stopped by a road block. Black ice, they say. Starved, we try to find some place to eat. A nearly impossible task! The small coastal town is almost deserted out of season. Finally we stumble upon an inn. Yes, they can make us ham and eggs. The food is greasy and it tastes bad, but we eat anyway. They even sell us some waffles. Finally the block is removed and we move on.
Sunday, March 6, 7 p.m.
Home at last! We'll have to play that darned match some other time.
Saturday, March 5, 5 p.m.
Right now we should be running out onto the court, beginning our warm-up for the match. Instead, we are stuck here, on the road, in the middle of nowhere. Standing still for about 12 hours already, the blizzard not relenting a bit. Limbs ache from all kinds of uncomfortable positions. Cold sinks in. The heating has been out for hours. And the wind... you could hear it, see it, feel it, taste it.
Friday, March 4, 7 p.m.
A dozen young tallish women embark on a bus, followed by a few men: a basketball team on a mission. Just as we reach the outskirts of the town, one of the men tells the driver to pull up. »Have you guys any idea where Split is? I'm off!« And he disappears into the drizzle.
Saturday, March 5, 8 p.m.
By now we should be out of the locker rooms, showered, refreshed, heading for dinner in the hotel. Instead, we haven't eaten for hours, all the food supplies gone. The cold gets unbearable, despair creeps in. We squeeze tight to each other, seeking some comfort, trying to preserve as much warmth as possible.
Sunday, March 6, 1 a.m.
Something is happening! Faint light from the opposite side, followed by a huge plough breaking its way through the snowdrifts. Rescued at last!
Sunday, March 6, 5 a.m.
Somewhere on the Adriatic coast, waiting for the petrol station to open. The wind is relentless. I'm awakened by my own chattering teeth. These last few hours before the daybreak seem endless.
Sunday, March 6, 11 a.m.
Reaching Karlobag, we are stopped by a road block. Black ice, they say. Starved, we try to find some place to eat. A nearly impossible task! The small coastal town is almost deserted out of season. Finally we stumble upon an inn. Yes, they can make us ham and eggs. The food is greasy and it tastes bad, but we eat anyway. They even sell us some waffles. Finally the block is removed and we move on.
Sunday, March 6, 7 p.m.
Home at last! We'll have to play that darned match some other time.
taste of salt
the train's clatter
lulls me to sleep
posted by polona @ 20:55
9 Comments:
Well done! The body of it could perhaps use some tightening, but overall it is very good. Polona, you're such a talent.
Powerful write. I enjoyed every bit of it. Thank you for sharing.
aurora, thank you! your words mean a lot.
would you believe that just about two years ago i vehemently claimed i hated writing :)
natalia, thank you. your comments are always welcome!
Polona, what made you start writing then? It seems to come naturally to you.
Polona I think this is well written. Love the haiku at the end!!
i was there
still shivering
and
as pat said
summed up/rounded off beautifully
by the haiku
thank you
It feels cold, but it also feels like Haibun, of course as others already have remarked it might be good with some tightening, but thats easy for me to write, I don't have any suggestion. It's nice haiku at the end.
aurura, i guess i was just ready.
actually,there was a chain of events/coincidences that made me start.
in brief, the positive feedback from my english teacher (i attended some training organized by my employer) regarding my homework essays was the first incentive. a few posts on an slovenian forum and an exchange of emails with one of the members aroused my interest in haiku and after sending some of my work to alenka and receiving her kind response (with some suggestions for improvement), i was hooked. :)
pat, thank you. i appreciate your comment.
floots, as you know, i owe this one to you (you don't want to be there)... thanks.
dustin, understood.
ashi, thank you for your comment.
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