AFTER THE STORM

the cygnets in the canal seemed exhausted. Much the same as I feel?
In the morning Mischa, Piet Hein and I cycled to the beach. So much blue in the sky, but a fierce wind blew.
A walk to the north with the wind in our back, the way back a bit of a struggle. But how wonderful to inhale the fresh air,  to look at the horizon so utterly far away. No ships that I could discern, not many gulls travelling in whatever direction.
In the late afternoon I'll go with Mischa to the Vereeniging, where the literary evening of the Extaze magazine will be held. We both help with the organization. As always an exiting program awaits us.
Coming home late, it is best to catch up tomorrow.

My haiku:

Do the cygnets dream
Of a bright future as we
Do from time to time?

And the quote by Luigi Pirandello (one of my favourite writers by the way) in The Rules of the Game (1918):

In bed my real love  has always been the sleep that rescued me by allowing me to dream.