There are few things more heartbreaking then lounging on the hotel terrace on a windy autumn day and watching ripe chestnuts bouncing off the concrete pavement.

Addendum (September 22, 2016)

A few years after this haiku was penned, I came upon a way to help the chestnuts on the hotel terrace: I sling them into the woods under my terrace. Sooner or later, an entire chestnut forest is bound to take shape on the western flank of the Motovun hill (“Bon’s Forest,” October 2, 2014). Be that as it may, my suffering is over. In fact, I rejoice at every ripe chestnut bouncing off the concrete pavement, for my sling is always on the ready. I must have slung at least fifty of them on this very day. Hooray!