October: A Haiku Story Want is a cold wind. I watch the leaves fly soundless And dream of roots, deep. If I catch a leaf, Pin it close, scarlet, umber, Will I be a tree? Reaching high, sightless, What’s left behind remembered, Wrapped around my feet....
I moved to a place where the loudest thing was the waves against the bulkhead, and reveled in the silence. And then I brought in birds, fuzzy and cheeping, tiny and unobtrusive, forgetting everything grows if it lives. It isn’t quiet here anymore. Outraged...
Summer is laziness, no routine. This week I even slept until ten. Most mornings I’m in the rooftop hammock with a coffee cup planted securely in the folds of my belly. I look at the infinite sky, at mountains almost as tall as God. Cornfields freshly...
The thermometer on my back porch reads 95 or maybe 98 or perhaps even 100. I don’t know as I can’t see the dial from my perch aboard the Ocean Endeavor as the ice-hardened ship eases into a fjord on Canada’s east coast. I’ve escaped the heat and humidity of...
Market In gray light between dawn and day, before drudges arrive at their towering hives, before crowds of tourists trudge the farmers market aisle, flowers come to the city in trucks. Men in aprons, women in kerchiefs, receive buckets of dahlias, stock,...
