OCTOBER 1

i WAS AWAKE AT 4:00 A.M

I had almost 5 hours of sleep. The usual is 6 hours. I feel a restlessness that comes over me this time of year. I think it is the Magyar in me that recalls the moving of of the tribes to their Winter pastures. My ancien tpeople of the horse. It is a wonder i was not born with bowed legs. I fell in love with a beautiful Chestnut on the Royal Stud 5 years ago. He sensed that i was very unhappy. The first day i met him he came up to me over the fence and licked the tears off my face. In my book, Vancouver Island Poetry i wrote this haiku in memory of my Father.

Half of his ashes are buried in Cambridge. The other half are in a small Chinese temple in my livingroom. I like having him near me in this way. On day i will return some of the ashes to Mohacs, Hungary. He loved England and the English for their love of horses and good shoes. He judged women by thir fine turn of ankle, just like a good horse!

Restless river
the fire-coloured maple
beckons the Magyar