7 December 2024 (a thin crust of snow)
Kristen Lindquist
a thin crust of snow . . .
squirrel tracks circle
the bird feeder
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BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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a thin crust of snow . . .
squirrel tracks circle
the bird feeder
holiday oldies
croon through store speakers . . .
ribbon candy
rain turns to snow
the zip of scissors
through curling ribbon
waxing cold moon hidden by clouds of my breath
snow on fallen leaves
my inability
to be silent
first snow
the unexpected silence
of blue jays
advent calendar
a pair of grazing deer
through the window
a crow flies through
the trees’ long shadows
morning frost
green of moss
through a dusting of snow
. . . three crows wait
a crow flies off
with a throat pouch full of suet
Thanksgiving rain
Happy Thanksgiving! I am very grateful for you, a reader of haiku! (And for crows, so often my muses.)
winter weather alert
a flock of crows trails
a pair of eagles