July 31, 2018

a pod of humpbacks
surfacing all around us —
their breaths and our gasps

July 30, 2018

drenching summer rain —
how many morning songs
will remain unsung?

July 29, 2018

high on a peaked roof
a seagull faces the sea 
clutching for balance

July 28, 2018

long summer days
we turn our alarms off,
place trust in the sun

July 27, 2018

glimpsing her pulse
just above her collarbone —
the spinning world slows

July 26, 2018

one last visit —
the bright moonlight 
makes deeper shadows

July 25, 2018

my mother taught me
long division when I was eight —
what did she see, then?

July 24, 2018

sodden earth
shot through with unmapped streams —
my sorrow wells up   

July 23, 2018

momentary hush —
fireflies drifting upward
between cricket songs

July 22, 2018

three goslings
grown past final fuzziness
ready to fly

July 21, 2018

the sound of rain
on the leaves and then our roof —
tell me a story

July 20, 2018

on our way home
we see the fox again
its dinner dangling

July 19, 2018

how much we missed in just a few cloudy nights! already a half moon

July 18, 2018

all night quietly pushing up the pine needles — new mushrooms

July 17, 2018

too close to the bar — the sky slides into the sea darker and darker

July 16, 2018

a sky full of kites — no one wants to be the first to start reeling in

July 15, 2018

mid-July — beach sand waits until day's end to slip from our hair

July 14, 2018

just like last summer and yet we are surprised — how bright these stars are!

July 13, 2018

gulls and their shadows coming together again on a sandbar

July 12, 2018

twenty-six years on our two weeks became a year — vacation math

July 11, 2018

a young camper sings a little wordless song — we can't stop smiling

July 10, 2018

open-window drive — amidst the rush of wind threads of bird song

July 09, 2018

instinctively drawn
to the trees with the deep shade —
my father, too

Yes, it's that time of year again... we are heeding the call of the great outdoors! You can leave us messages in the comments below (although we probably won't read them until we get back), or, even better...

Please consider sending us snailmail at camp! Most years we got a lot of mail and it is SO GREAT! Plus, I will of course happily send you a postcard in return. If you're reading this between July 9th and July 16th, here's your big chance to make our day at camp!
Send a little note (and/or dark chocolate!) to:
Riendeau-Krause campers, site 35-C
c/o North of Highland Campground
52 Head of the Meadow Road
P.O. Box 297
North Truro, MA 02652-0297

If that's too much trouble, you can also call the camp office and ask the very nice folks there to leave us a note on the camp message board, which is also a big thrill. That number (good from July 7th through the 19th or so) is 508/ 487-1191, and office hours are pretty much all day with the exception of meal breaks from noon-1pm and again from 6-7pm.

(The message board at camp on a good day)

Even if you don't have a chance to send a message our way, we know we can count on you to send warm and sunny thoughts... right? And a special thanks to the excellent neighbors who are keeping watch on our little house until we get back.

(I'll still be writing at least one haiku each day,
but won't be able to post them while we're gone.
Watch this space for "haiku-palooza" 
once we return!)

July 08, 2018

in a dark cupboard
vases awaiting flowers —
if we met again now...

July 07, 2018

stuck in my head —
the song the wind threw at me
all the way home

July 06, 2018

young girls at the pool
sharing stories of the times
when they were mermaids

July 05, 2018

halfway to tomorrow —
in our yard’s darkest corner
even more fireflies

July 04, 2018

Independence Day —
sorting through protest photos
of hand-lettered signs

July 03, 2018

hot summer night —
talk of World Cup matches
mingles with fireflies

July 02, 2018

interstellar trip —
confidently coming back
to the Seven Sisters

July 01, 2018

unplanned good-byes —
I show our overnight firefly

gently to the door