Outside my garden wall, traffic swishes, yet in this place of rock and sand, cool moss and good earth, I lose myself in reflection.
secret shadow land
my deeper self plants firmly
spreading fertile roots
bird feeder robbers
springing from the sweet gum tree
three playful squirrels
even in chill air
splashing sounds twitter loudly
when birds come to bathe
Precious relics are buried here. Baby teeth collected by the tooth fairy, a tiny lock of baby's hair symbolic of her first haircut.
Crystals, quartz, a single silver button, and spider webs gossamer as silk
lines drawn in the sand
speak a language all their own
Autumn days warm as butter quickly change to chilly nights.
While I, a contented cat enjoy a cornucopia of earthy colors and pungent scents; Chrysanthemums, lilies and wheat, surrounded by harvest candles, their flickering teases shadow as it dances across the wall.
Mums and marigolds
help to brighten hearth and heart
Happiness is abandoned nests, the fledglings gone having found their wings. For now I'll claim them and set them among the stone elves and tiny pumpkins.
One perfect blue egg
alone in deserted nest
dreaming it can fly
Wind's echoing rasp meets soft night's descent sending eveyone closer to the fire. It's too early for snow, but the scent is in the air. A polar vortex is what they're calling this fast exchange from fall to winter chill.
outside the windows
tree monsters flail their limbs
lashing and thrashing
Little eyes are getting sleepy. Time for prayers and a bedtime story, then kisses as she's tucked warmly into bed.
as today concludes
I sit alone with my thoughts
sipping strong black tea
poem seedlings blossoming
grace a tired mind
sleep and renewal
meet with a dusting of snow
on the evergreens.
Even as I clear away snow from the sidewalks, the birds gather hoping for my gift of peanuts and bread. .
Feathered friends you know when I open the door, all gathering to sing your morning songs from the eves and bushes.
Your joyousness is contagious and I too hum a song enjoying the crisp feel of the cold. .
Glorious new day
the rapture of whiteness sings
hymns of renewal
Tiny footprints trail
disappearing in bushes
haibun is a form I love, either prose or diary entries mixed with haiku and senryu.a