Talk of poems and prayers and promises and things that we believe in;
How sweet it is to love someone, how right it is to care;
How long it’s been since yesterday and what about tomorrow?
What about our dreams and all the memories we share?
I’m fascinated by the dandelion; such a temporal thing it is. Transient, and yet tenacious, it grows, blooms, morphs, and flies away, above the fray, to plant seeds (and a new life) somewhere else.
Nature is a natural antidote to down days.
A quiet story about coming out of a long, silent austerity into the startlingly lush experience of in-person conversation and a meal with another couple outside of our bubble.
It was cold, damp, bleak and dreary. Dickens would have felt right at home.
We’re all waiting for the day when friends can once again be greeted with a bear hug.
it’s not enough to “not be racist,” I must be anti-racist and actively involved in highlighting injustice and creating a better world, along the lines of “If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem”.
A remembrance and a haiku for the intrepid little lady we lost, Ruth Violet Hiatt Holt.
As much as holidays are a time for celebration, they also bring reminders of the past, joyful days with lost loved ones.
The backstory for this (hopefully) enigmatic haiku is a tale of a search through my photo library.
There are so many unknowns these days. But seeds of change are being sown, and autumn can bring a welcome respite.
A haiku inspired by mourning doves in the early morning at Gumbo Cove … were they sentries? Signposts? They seemed like they were anxiously awaiting something. Like us.
A discarded coronavirus mask littering the parking lot. The song, Road to Nowhere. A haiku.
Cicadas and air conditioners are the soundtrack of warm summer evenings as the indigo sky darkens on another day.
What does it really look like when we get down the road? It’s up to us, isn’t it? This is no time to blink.
Everything needs a foundation; you can’t just jump into something without laying the groundwork and expect it to work.
My lost loved ones were in this sky, whispering a gossamer goodbye.
Just around the corner from crowded Covent Garden in London, I found an unexpected peaceful haven, a magical courtyard. I had entered another dimension, Harry Potter-style.
The sky over South Park Valley demands a haiku today, the first day of NaHaiWriMo 2020.
