This would be nore accurate, as sparrows don’t nest in winter. So my suggested line would indicate an empty nest.
Somewhat bleak maybe, a dead heart, but true, with it’s own melancholy beauty.
I think wild pigeons nest in winter – the only bird I am aware of that does this risky thing.
But a pigeon would not be nesting in a hole.
Of course you could put another season there, like spring (and nesting is a spring kigo – or season word – so you could even omit the reduntant seasonal noun (ie, ‘spring’ in my example, ‘winter’ in your own use).
To animate the heart (which is your intention here,) why not change winter to spring? Now the nest can be populated with life.
Also, sparrows nest in communities, unless, perhaps, a hedge sparrow (or ‘dunnock’).
Otherwise I do like your idea, providing the accuracy is observed.
There is a very good haiku here – waiting to hatch!
Thanks to everyone for your comments.
I wonder how much would be lost if the haiku became:
the scarecrow’s heart
I’ve been thinking about this sparrow for sometime and seeing it as the heart of the scarecrow. That to me is the essential image. I imagined it was nesting but maybe it was just a comfortable place to be in the cold mist and the scarecrow is happy either way to have a close companion or bosom friend.
I’ve written and re-written this haiku many times. The one you see today is the nearest I’ve got to it feeling right so far. Thanks, André
A true haiku is all about being respectful of direct sensory experience. How much more so the research accuracy required of a comfortable ‘desk haiku’, which, I would say, we have here? It may be that there is a variety of senryu which covers poetic licence – though I very much doubt that. Fantasy is always a problem when it masquerades as fact. Better to get out into the real world, clearly, than to live one’s life in a self-serving dream? This is the essential quality of true haiku, often misnderstood by Westerners, who are not easily initiated into a Zen-like approach to experience. The study and practice of true haiku is much, much more than clever turns of phrase. Nevertheless, I do like the idea of this scarecrow meditation – perhaps a field mouse slumbers?
This wasn’t a desk haiku but a remembered experience either from childhood or a previous existance. I spent much of my childhood in Knaresborough, North Yorkshire and my best friend was a farmer’s son.
I used a meditative state to try to recapture what I saw or indeed thought I saw. I agree that getting out and about to experience haiku first-hand is an essential element for the writing of true haiku. Sadly my ability to do this is hampered by illness as I now have difficulty walking around a supermarket. But even there, haiku can spill from a shelf.
Small world! I spent a marvelous childhood in the wilds of Cumbria (Cumberland, as was.) This is why I know about what nests in a scarecrow in winter – a fieldmouse! (Maybe a wren or a robin, or some other, socially solitary, small bird in the springtime.) I see what you are aiming at though – the adding of more twigs to rejuvenate a dead, winter heart, and so on – and I do like this general idea. However, haiku is bound to a seasonal almanac, and this by strict defination. The whole ethos of haiku is fidelity to nature. A freeing of the spirit from the bondage of intellect. This is why many regard haiku as an exercise in Zen meditation.
Thank you. I love that haiku and it’s a real gift you have given to us all.
Right now, here in Hamilton, New Zealand it is a warm 24 degrees, cicadas are singing and I am about to have my lunch and then a siesta.
No, André Surridge, my blessing haiku is just for you, dear (and poor Rhoda, because of her complete misunderstanding of the nature of haiku, as evidenced by her ‘almanac’ nonsense) – perhaps to sweeten the medicine of enlightenment.
in the scarecrows heart
a little mouse, sleeps
I think these Rubik’s Cube (rubric?) type haiku are sprinkled into human fequencies, from time to time (by the clear, bright spirit of haiku,) so that we do not get too clever with ourselves, probably as a result of our Pavlovian conditioning. They do exercise the mind though – and keep our standards up!
Getting there, Alison Hedlund – loses the original meaning though (winter = old age) and the sparrow would need to be a dunnock. This is the challenge with this intriguing haiku. It’s doing my head in! Is like a haiku rubik’s cube!!