14 October 2025 (colorless sunset)
Kristen Lindquist
colorless sunset . . .
silhouettes of turkeys
crossing the orchard
Book of Days
BOOK OF DAYS: A POET AND NATURALIST TRIES TO FIND POETRY IN EVERY DAY
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13 October 2025 (where the fox was)
Kristen Lindquist
where the fox was . . .
a glacial erratic
split by a crack
12 October 2025 (last day)
Kristen Lindquist
last day on the island . . .
a monarch pauses
on some seaside asters
11 October 2025 (yellowing ferns)
Kristen Lindquist
yellowing ferns . . .
with each step down the trail
another sparrow
10 October 2025 (spruce needle rain)
Kristen Lindquist
spruce needle rain . . .
a sparrow attempts the song
his father sang
9 October 2025 (suddenly, fall)
Kristen Lindquist
suddenly, fall —
a full-moon high tide
hides the beach
8 October 2025 (autumn gale)
Kristen Lindquist
autumn gale
a peregrine sails past
without lifting a feather
7 October 2025 (unseasonable heat)
Kristen Lindquist
unseasonable heat
a dozen vultures circling
the mountaintop
6 October 2025
Kristen Lindquist
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!
6 October 2025 (the poem)
Kristen Lindquist
the poem
we didn’t write together
sun on asters
5 October 2025 (a friend waves)
Kristen Lindquist
A variation on yesterday’s haiku
a friend waves
from the departing ferry . . .
heart-leaved aster