A Wink from the Universe

The phrase “As above, so below” is thought to have originated around twelve centuries ago in an Arabic alchemical treatise called the Emerald Tablet. But the idea of a correspondence between the heavenly and earthly realms is much older than that. The earliest humans noticed that the seasons shifted with the position of the sun in the sky, while the phases of the moon influenced tides and menstruation. These observations laid the foundation for a wide range of human cultural endeavors—from mythmaking to mathematics.

But the idea that the earth and the heavens mirror each other gave rise to superstitious beliefs as well. Comets were seen as portents in many premodern cultures. And meteor showers, if they were heavier than usual, could cause extreme alarm. On the night of November 12–13, 1833, during a spectacular, unprecedented Leonid shower, observers in North America witnessed more than 70,000 meteors per hour in an event later known as “The Night of Falling Stars.” Lack of knowledge about astronomy combined with millennialist religious beliefs to inspire widespread panic, convincing many people that the world had come to an end.

The annual Perseid shower is sedate by comparison. An average year sees only a few hundred meteors over the course of its peak night of August 12 or 13. That accounts for the dark, slightly deadpan humor of our Summer 2026 Best of Season haiku.

Spotting a few falling stars over the course of the night, the poet concludes, ruefully, that things aren’t much better in the sky than they are on earth. If we are waiting for the heavens to intervene in our current troubles—including genocide, ecocide, and the rise of totalitarian regimes—the wait could be longer than we expect. As below, so above. The heavens have troubles of their own.

Naturally, this is meant to be comical. The poet may not even believe in a transcendent realm that delivers decrees or portents “from above.” If she is ever lucky enough to witness a shower like the one in 1833, she will experience awe like the rest of us, but probably not terror. NASA will have prepared us long in advance—provided it still has funding.

But humor is a funny thing in haiku. Being so elusive and briefly rendered, it can veer in unpredictable directions. It’s a bit like watching for meteors. You can’t tell for certain where the next one is coming from until it arrives.

“Even in heaven / things are falling to pieces,” the poet declares. But whatever fell apart to create the space debris of the Perseids happened so long ago and far away that the only thing left of it now is beauty. A transitory, silent beauty that offers a moment of perspective on the drama of earthly conflict and competition. A little wink from the universe that tells another ancient truth: And this, too, shall pass.

♦

The Tricycle Haiku Challenge asks readers to submit original works inspired by a season word. Moderator Clark Strand selects the top poems to be published in Tricycle with his commentary.

To see past winners and submit your haiku, visit tricycle.org/haiku.