12 November 2021 (gingko)

lake sunset

yellow gingko leaves fan out

across the sidewalk

11 November 2021 (frost)

last night’s argument

frost lingers in the shadow

of the house

10 November 2021 (slant)

slant of morning light

across the newspaper

a ladybug

9 November 2021 (lawn chair)

filling the seat

of his blue plastic lawn chair

yellow leaves

8 November 2021 (early dark)

in this early dark

moving closer for warmth . . .

the moon and Venus

The Moon and Venus over the Hannaford parking lot tonight

7 November 2021 (nest)

our neighbor’s house

revealed through branches

squirrel nest

6 November 2021 (marsh)

burnished saltmarsh

a hidden sandpiper

calls to others

5 November 2021 (waterfall)

taking it all in . . .

the waterfall

shares some ions

4 November 2021 (crows)

distant crows . . .

afternoon light bronzes

the mountainside

3 November 2021 (dream)

I often dream that I’m writing haiku, but upon waking, don’t often remember what I wrote. This morning I did, though, and I thought the haiku kind of worked, if you remember that old joke: “make like a tree and leave.” The subconscious amazes me.

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making like a tree migrant sparrows

2 November 2021 (frost)

Twelve years ago yesterday I began this blog! I didn’t know what I was doing for several years, and I took occasional breaks from the “daily” thing, but the important thing to me was that I was writing regularly, at a time in my life when a stressful job was sapping my time and energy, especially my creative energy. At this point, my daily practice of haiku has become necessary to my well-being. And, as is often said, a haiku is essentially a collaboration between the writer and the reader—so thank you for accompanying me along the way and completing the circle.

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dawn moon . . .

frost coats the nail heads

in the deer stand