you smell like sunshine,

he says. I smile, I know he's got that line from a book.
We are at the seaside, where it's remarkably warm for this time of year. With the many hundreds of visible footprints in the sand I can hardly believe we are almost alone here. The absence of the usual hustle and bustle of a crowd works for us though.


beach cabin
a sunset mural
on the bedroom wall

new day

I wish it was still raining. The sound is so peaceful that it sets my mind at ease and lets me drift away in one of those dreamless sleeps that have become a habit lately. Sleep that I need so badly to be able to see things in perspective.


new day
the song
of a blackbird

blessed

"It's my last one, I really need it back. I already lost four pens today on tourists." In her over-sized black uniform the stern and elderly lady in front of me looks more like a member of the Salvation Army than a volunteer with the Welsh Talyllyn Railway.
Fifteen minutes later I drop the questionnaire in a glass box (curly letters say Thank You for Taking A Ride With Us Today!) and go look for her on the main platform. When I hand her back her pen she gives me the broadest smile I have ever seen.
"Bless you!", she says.


departing train
waiving back at people
I don´t know

change

Sometimes fate takes an uncontrollable turn and that's that. Period.
It's the kind of fate that lets you function more or less OK in daytime, but haunts you relentlessly during the endless hours of the night with the thought if you could have seen it coming.


midnight
the staircase's
lone lightbulb

print

Again a spooky grey print of a bird in full flight is on our living-room window. I don't know why but it's mostly sparrows that crash against the glass. Very rarely it means death though; I've caught some on the ground below shaking and breathing heavily before flying away again, but most of the time there's no trace whatsoever of any bird, dead or alive.


Spring day
the sound of a cuckoo
but never the bird

Op eigen wijze

op eigen wijze

deelt het kustlicht de nacht in

zolang het opvalt

De steen met deze haiku van Jan Loman (1918-2006) vind je op de rode vuurtoren op Schiermonnikoog. En er is nog een haiku van Jan Loman op het eiland: bij het baken Kobbeduinen. Klik HIER voor een foto.

January sun

The light is beaming through the large glass-stained window and forms a colourful pattern on the cold stone floor. From my seat I have a clear view on the photo that is placed on top of her coffin. Eyes, happy with life, look straight into the camera.


January sun
church bells chime
then fade away

countdown to Christmas

countdown to Christmas

humming carols

on my way to work

aftellen naar Kerst

kerstliedjes neuriën

op weg naar mijn werk

The haiku was written for Caribbean Kigo Kukai (2nd place CKK October 2014)

east wind

"Thirty years", he tells us. "Thirty years I worked here as a prison warder. And when after my retirement the prison closed and eventually turned into a museum, I was asked to become a guide and share my 'know-how', as they called it. I accepted of course; why sit at home all day and watch the flowers grow?"

"Sssh...now listen", he says as we step into one of the cell block buildings. "I want you to experience the sound each prisoner heard when he first arrived here". And with a sharp and deafening click echoing through the building, the thick steel door closes behind us.



east wind
a boy tries to crack
a frozen puddle

it's just rain

It's a bit like those fireplaces that can be seen on television screens on the walls of restaurants sometimes.
I'm standing in her basement annex art studio, listening to the sound of water falling from the sky like it is never going to stop. It's coming from four giant loudspeakers, one in each corner of the room.
"It's just rain. I like rain", she says, before I can ask anything.


falling leaves
the scent of wet dog
in the hallway

after the rains

The old farmer comes towards us and stops, then points at our hiking shoes. "You better take them off when you're going down this path." He looks over his shoulder. "It's really really wet over there. Boots barely kept my feet dry, you know." He smiles, and sighs. "I've been counting my cows. Thirty three so far."


after the rains
wild flowers speckle
the pastures

kleuren

if you were a child

The small farmhouse has been deserted for decades. Doors and windows have been nailed up. Trees and bushes grow wildly, and no doubt small animals and a myriad of insects and birds (and ....?) have found a shelter in there somewhere. It's a house you would run past if you were a child.
Today however a lingering fragrance of flowers invites me to take a closer look; I might even pick a few berries and enjoy the


Autumn sunset
shapes stretch
into silhouettes

just like autumn

Slowly the two street singers move along the market stalls at the Autumn fair, bringing a variety of familiar songs. Their guitars and gypsy clothes make them stand out in the crowd. The combination of her clear voice and his bass works surprisingly well.
When the tune of Pippi Longstocking is set in, I am taken back to my childhood instantly. I see a playful and unpredictable girl, colourful, happy, never a boring day.
Just like the singers. Just like Autumn.


October afternoon
a letter from school
addressed to her parents

morning traffic

The headlights arrive in my rear-view mirror fast. Before I know it a black family car swerves past me, seconds before an oncoming bus. I get a glimpse of one of the passengers; bored eyes above a crimson sweatshirt.


grey room
the cold light
of morning