10 October 2025 (spruce needle rain)
Kristen Lindquist
spruce needle rain . . .
a sparrow attempts the song
his father sang
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BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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spruce needle rain . . .
a sparrow attempts the song
his father sang
suddenly, fall —
a full-moon high tide
hides the beach
autumn gale
a peregrine sails past
without lifting a feather
unseasonable heat
a dozen vultures circling
the mountaintop
The poem I scheduled for today (because I’m traveling today) mistakenly got posted yesterday, along with yesterday’s haiku—so please go back and read it again!
the poem
we didn’t write together
sun on asters
A variation on yesterday’s haiku
a friend waves
from the departing ferry . . .
heart-leaved aster
heart-leaved aster . . .
the departing ferry
dips in the swells
moonlit meadow
the erratic flight path
of a single bat
crowded wharf . . .
a school of mackerel
swirls through the harbor
distant fishing boat . . .
the green within
a sunlit wave
Bonus haiku by my friend Bryan:
fallout
glowing
warblers