Tides turn. Seasons change. Light and darkness wax and wane. Here in the eastern part of New York’s backyard, temperatures climb, and humidity waits in the wings. Meanwhile, south of the equator, winter tightens its grip.

This is the way on the Solstice.

Frank Tassone, here, your host for Haibun Monday, where we blend prose and haiku to fashion the form Basho loved. Today, let’s talk about the first Solstice of this year!

A real Gemini of a day, depending on your locale: the Solstice is the longest day/shortest night of the year, or vice versa. It marks the official commencement of either Summer or Winter. Ancient peoples, from the Mesa Verde cliff dwellers to the mysterious builders of Stonehenge, designed their marvels to calculate the arrival of this Celestial pivot.

The Solstice is enough inspiration for any poet, as these haijin testify:

Deadheaded flowers
tossed into the compost heap—
a new season starts

The excitement of the first day of summer is tempered with the thoughts that the days will be growing shorter, the garden is in a race to ripen before the first frost, and the woodshed still needs to be filled. The work waits while dandelion seeds float on the warm breeze.

The days pass slowly,
years are in a rush to end—
A life of seasons.

A light rain offers little distraction; it’s too wet to work in the garden, but not too wet to walk in the woods. Except for tranquility there is little here to gather; the fiddleheads have all unfurled, the chokecherries aren’t quite ripe, and it’s too warm for mushrooms. At the edge of the meadow the dog flushes a pheasant and turns to look at me— everything has a season.

Bracken waves me on
as if to say it’s too late—
Time for summer things

© C.D Sinex

Poem Hunter (January 26, 2016)

Mother of Sunsets

An early sundown in the winter solstice. Left dangling in the cloudy sky a slivered moon over the welter of waves. Gloaming, little spumes shine over the swing of sea. Looking back, I feel the old pull in my hand. A little rain through the haze of night, the drowning pulse of a lonely drummer, the viola weeps, a halting cantilena heaving for breath.

              feeling
              mother’s heart throbs
              slowly
              my own heart beats
              in sync with hers

An unknown trauma they found a phantom in the brain. The algorithm of the last movement gracefully falters into an eerie silence.

              swaying
              in her fragile hands –
              a vibrato

Suraj Nanu

Drifting Sands, Issue 6 (December 28, 2020)

Summer Solstice Sale

My wife goes to the bathroom and leaves me standing in the checkout line with three pairs of panties hanging off miniature hangers. I try to strike up a conversation with the woman behind me. “Long line, no?” I comment. She mumbles something. I smile and decide I’ll talk to the man in front of me. That’s a mistake. The man won’t shut up. The line is a death march to the cashier. I learn about some battle in South Korea, the names of all his grandchildren, a bout of prostate cancer, and a cruise to Alaska he’s hoping to take before he dies. His wife was a saint, but she died young, as saints often do. My wife shows up and says hello to him. That’s a mistake.

small talk the cost of a bargain

Bob Lucky

Contemporary Haibun Online, 16:3 (December, 2020)

Today, let’s honor this seasonal sensation! Write a haibun that alludes to this first Solstice of 2026!

New to haibun? The form consists of one to a few paragraphs of prose—usually written in the present tense—that evoke an experience and are often non-fictional/autobiographical. They may be preceded or followed by one or more haiku—nature-based, using a seasonal image—that complement without directly repeating what the prose stated.

New to dVerse? Here is what you do:

• Write a haibun that alludes to the first Solstice of 2026.
• Post it on your personal site/blog.
• Include a link back to dVerse in your post.
• Copy your link onto the Mr. Linky.
• Remember to click the small checkbox about data protection.
• Read and comment on some of your fellow poets’ work.
• Like and leave a comment below if you choose to do so.
• Have fun!